Alistair's Journey
by Magritte
Summary: Having fallen out with his lover, Aedan, Alistair travels to Weisshaupt alone.  Although the First summoned him there for answers, Alistair too seeks answers, but must find them within himself.  Finale of Chasing Alistair/Morrigan's Daughter.
1. The Road to Montfort: Departure

1. THE ROAD TO MONTFORT: DEPARTURE

Alistair rode north, away from love, away from the only real home and family he had ever had. He was almost grateful for the storm, for it meant that he could weep without shame, knowing that those who saw him would mistake the tears for raindrops on his cheeks.

Nothing he had done in his life, not even in the year of the Blight, had been as difficult as climbing on his horse and riding away. He had resisted the impulse for a last embrace, and even avoided looking back, for fear he would weaken. His lover knew him too well and his personality was too strong. Alistair had never been able to resist him. In this, Aedan was not so different from his daughter.

For a long time—years—he had not tried to resist. He had reveled in the security of Aedan's arms, felt himself enveloped by his love. Why not? He had never trusted in his own judgment. It had seemed far better to let himself be guided by his brother Warden, who had always been so wise and decisive, and who loved him deeply. For more than five years he had awoken each morning and been amazed to find himself in bed with the man they called the Hero of Ferelden, Commander of the Grey.

But in the space of a fortnight, everything had changed. He felt like he no longer knew Aedan, and could not trust him. When he had learned of what had been done to save them on the roof of Fort Drakon, he had been afraid. He supposed that he had always known that Aedan had done _something_ with Morrigan, but he had not thought that he would release an old god into the world. More—even if the girl was not inherently evil—he had released her into _Morrigan's_ care. Even then, he had believed—_forced_ himself to believe that Aedan was wiser than him, that this _must_ have been for the best, though it went against everything he had been taught, against what his own heart told him.

He had watched in dismay as Aedan seemed more concerned with concealing what he had done from Yves than with making sure no ill would come from the child. Little things that had been concealed from him during the Blight came to light, and he worried more and more about Aedan's motivations. After what he had done to Leliana—and hidden from him—Alistair felt he had no choice but to leave.

He had told Aedan, _I have to trust your heart. If I can't trust that, I have nothing._ And it was so. With his loss of faith in Aedan, he felt he had lost his way, wondered whether anything he had done for six years had been right.

_No, I do not have nothing. I am a Warden._ Just as after Ostagar, when he had strapped himself to a young recruit, willing himself to believe that he could lead them to victory over the Darkspawn, that was one thing he still had. It was fitting that he go to Weisshaupt, a place he had always wondered about. Perhaps there he could find his path again.

Lost in his thoughts and focused only on getting away from Val Royeaux, it was some time before he noticed that it had grown dark. He realized that he was pushing his unfamiliar horse far too hard for the first day of a long journey, and that he must stop and set up camp for the night. In this weather, he would have been prudent to stop at a tavern along the way, but he was fortunate: the rain stopped and a campfire was feasible.

The following morning broke sunny and pleasantly cool, after the heat that had broiled Val Royeaux for the past few days. He examined the stallion, which he had decided to name Somerled, before embarking on the journey. Despite how hard he had ridden the previous day, the horse seemed only a little stiff, with no sign of injury. He chose his horses for strength, knowing that, especially when fully armored, he was a heavy burden to carry, and it seemed he had chosen rightly. Still, he promised himself that he would be more cautious with Somerled in the days to come.

It was not as though he had any real reason to hurry. It seemed that the news he brought Weisshaupt could have no immediate use and he did not think Aedan would pursue him this time. _And __I don't want him to. I don't,_ he told himself fiercely.

He kept Somerled in a slow trot as they traveled north along the old Imperial road. On either side of him lay fertile, rolling plains, dotted with many small peasant villages. A ridge of hills rose in the east along the horizon.

As the days passed, he stopped in these villages often for meals and sometimes for lodging for the night. Though he tolerated sleeping on the ground more readily than Aedan—one advantage of his humble upbringing—sometimes it was pleasant to have somewhere dry and soft to sleep. And while he carried food with him, the salted and dried provisions would keep, and were best saved for the wilder country he must traverse later on his journey.

Though he could tell people were curious about the big, fair-haired man on the white stallion, he was rarely approached, except by the serving wenches in the taverns. Timidly, and with elaborate courtesy, they would take his orders, never daring to ask him who he was or where he was going. _Am I so frightening?_ he wondered. More likely, it was just that he was assumed to be a _chevalier_, and they were terrified of giving offense. And though he was not a taciturn man by nature, his mood did not inspire him to seek out company.

One afternoon, he was riding through a small village, surrounded by golden fields of ripening wheat and vineyards. Despite the obvious bounty of the land, the peasants he saw were ill-clad and lived in rude hovels. When he paused at the stream that ran through the village to water his horse, he heard a woman cry out in alarm from the field nearby. He dismounted from his horse, to look around and saw a blonde man pushing a young woman—she could not have been much older than Ellaire-to the ground. A dark-haired man laughed and held down her arms. The blonde was forcing the girl's legs apart and lifting his chain hauberk, fumbling with the laces of his breeches underneath, smiling in anticipation.

They're going to rape her right here! And yet, there are other villagers around. No one is doing anything!

Alistair pulled the shield from his back and advanced, his hand on the hilt of the keening blade. "Let go of the girl!" he called out.

The blonde spun toward him, while the other man continued to hold the girl. "Who do you think you are, speaking to me—Warden," he broke off, suddenly, seeing the . "What's your interest in this?" His eyes narrowed, and a thin smile appeared. "You like her? Maybe you want a piece of her too?"

Several peasants in the surrounding fields were now staring toward them, but none of them made a move to help. He advanced on the two men, "Let go of her, you beasts, and maybe I'll let you live." The girl was staring up at him now, her face still filled with fear.

The dark-haired man rose and drew their blades, red steel in the blonde man's hand, steel in the dark. "You think to fight both of us?"

Alistair snorted and drew his own sword. "I've faced greater numbers than two. Try me." The two men looked at the violet sparks that danced along the Keening Blade and his dark dragonbone mail and thought better of their challenge. "Very well, Warden. She's yours." He pushed the girl toward him with a mailed boot as she wept.

He knelt down and tried to console her. "It's alright, no one's going to hurt you now."

But the girl continued to weep. "What will my family do?" she asked, then cried some more. "It's all my fault!" Alistair did not understand the question, or how she could possibly blame herself.

An older man—one of the onlookers who had done nothing when the girl was attacked-spoke to him. "I know you meant well, stranger. But the girl has the right of it. The Baron will punish her family, maybe drive them away, for not submitting."

His eyes flicked toward the two men who were stalking off in the direction of a small keep on a nearby hill. "That was the lord of the manor? That monster? Is there nothing—" he turned back to the sobbing girl, "How much would your family need to make a fresh start in another village?"

She looked up at him, her eyes red. "You would…give me money, _mon sieur_?"

He nodded. "I meant only to help and it seems I have not…"

"I—maybe three sovereigns would be enough." She looked to the older man for advice.

He gave her five, and she thanked him, kneeling at his feet. He had brought enough coin that he judged he could spare it. The thought crossed his mind that they might be taking advantage of him…but no, disgusting as it was, it was not inconsistent with what he had heard growing up of the behavior of the _chevaliers_. It reminded him of a story he had heard from an Orlesian merchant in Denerim once.

That evening, he related the story to an innkeeper just outside of the walls of of Mormont. Mormont was a large city, at a major crossroads in Orlais. They were more used to wealthy travelers here than in some of the simple village taverns he had stopped at along the way. "But how can they just accept it like that? Surely…the law would punish even a lord for such a thing?"

"The baron would be the law on his manor, and the only law the peasants would know." the innkeeper replied. "I suppose one could try appealing to the royal magistrate, but if it comes down to the word of serf against a baron…"

"But there were witnesses!" pointed out Alistair.

"And would they dare to testify against their lord?" He shook his head as he refilled Alistair's glass of wine. "Is it really so different in Ferelden?"

"Yes!" But then, he paused to consider. A bann was usually the legal authority for a local area. The nobles he knew best—Arl Eamon and Aedan—certainly would not tolerate men ravishing helpless girls. But he knew not all were so scrupulous. He had heard unsavory rumors about the conduct of Arl Vaughn of Denerim. "Well…sometimes it is. It depends somewhat on the local ruler." He admitted unhappily.

The girl really had reminded him of Ellaire. Not that that was likely to happen to her: a petty baron who tangled with a mage would doubtless get what he deserved. Still, he wondered if they had done the right thing, leaving her with the Mage Collective. Like everything else, he had left it up to Aedan. He took a swallow of wine and frowned.


	2. Montfort: A NearDeserted Inn

MONTFORT: A NEAR-DESERTED INN

Alistair had left Val Royeaux in such a hurry that he had not plotted out his route to Weisshaupt. From the maps he had seen, he knew that beyond Montfort, there was more than one possible course. He had heard there was a Warden post near the city; he would seek advice there. Surely someone in the city would know where it might be found.

Montfort was built on the eastern end of a steep ridge overlooking a river and a major crossroads in Orlais. At first, the city streets were quiet and he saw few people. He began to wonder if a plague had struck, though surely the city guards would not have allowed him to enter in that case. But then, he started hearing music and the laughter and shouting of crowds in the distance. It seemed that most of Montfort had gathered on the hillside below the castle gates. Alistair had completely forgotten about the Midsummer Festival. Leliana had told him that while the one in Val Royeaux was the largest by far, similar celebrations were held in many centers in Orlais. Only now did he recall that today was the final day.

The hillside had been shaped into an amphitheatre—probably dating back to the time of the Tevinter Imperium—and a great crowd had gathered to watch the entertainments. Jugglers and musicians were performing now, but no doubt there would be feats of martial prowess later. Merchants had set up tents nearby and were hawking their wears to passersby.

It all reminded him of another day, when the Midsummer festival had begun in Val Royeaux. A picnic in the shade of the great oaks, a play in the afternoon, music and jugglers…and he and Aedan had been like the laughing couples he saw here, holding hands. Two days later, everything had changed.

When he first arrived, he had thought that he might browse the merchant's stalls and watch the martial competitions, but the memory of that other day had risen like bile in his throat and he felt a need to get away. He quickly made inquiries with the guards at the gatehouse, and learned that the Warden's post was on the main road, about a days ride north of town.

Leaving Mormont behind, he rode north until dusk, but was still a short distance from Mont Vieuxmur, where the Wardens had their post. After a warm sunny day, the night had turned stormy, but as luck would have it, he was near a small roadside inn. The windows looked dark, however, so he was not certain it was in operation.

As he dismounted from his horse and approached, he could see a torch lighting up. A big bearded man, taller and heavier than himself, opened the door. Seeing him, the man turned and called out to someone inside the inn, "Hey, looks like we might have a customer tonight, after all."

"Come in, come in out of the rain," called a woman's voice. "Good thing I told you to slaughter that hare. Bertelot'd have your hide if we'd had no meat or fish for a customer on Midsummer's Eve."

"And he'd have had my hide if I'd killed the hare and we'd had no customers, too," the man replied gloomily.

"Bertelot is the innkeeper?" Alistair began. "I'd like a room for the night."

He entered the inn and hung his rain-drenched cloak on a hook by the door. He could see the woman now, illuminated by the glow from a fire that was heating a large pot. She turned her head toward him and the man's torches caught red highlights in her brown hair. She laughed. "You think we have room to spare? We're _so_ busy tonight!" She held out her hands, encompassing the empty common room.

"Why is it so quiet?"

"Everybody's in Montfort for the end of the festival, even Bertelot. Marcel and I got stuck here, in case anyone showed up. Maker knows, Bertelot couldn't bear the thought of missing a few coins if there were customers to be had. Sorry, I've forgot my manners in the excitement of not being stuck alone here all night. Welcome to _Le Renard Rouge_. I'm Genevieve. Marcel, why don't you show our guest to the best room…I have to watch the stew and chop up some more turnips."

Marcel led him up the stairs and let him into a room with a large bed. It was not luxurious by the standards of the Palais de Montfleurie, but better than average accommodations for a simple inn. He put down his pack and changed out of his armor, though he still wore a light chain shirt under his surcoat, before heading back down to the common room. Aedan had laughed at him for his reluctance to go unarmored, but he felt almost naked without it, ever since the year of the Blight.

Genevieve and Marcel were sitting together at a large table when he returned. "Pull up a chair, Warden." she said, "Stew's almost ready, and the baker brought up some loaves of fresh bread up from the village this morning on his way into Montfort. So are you a new recruit?"

She must have noticed the insignia on his shield when he came in. "No, I've been a Warden for a few years. Do I seem so…inexperienced?"

She chuckled. "No, it's just that I know all the guys at Mont Vieuxmur-" Marcel muttered something and she rolled her hazel eyes. "-and the Wardens recruit veterans sometimes…not that you're so old." He guessed that he was a little older than her, but not much.

He shook his head. "I'm not with that post, though I plan to visit it tomorrow. I'm from Ferelden."

"Ah," she nodded as she served him a bowl of stewed hare and Marcel filled his cup with wine. "I knew you weren't Orlesian from your accent. We don't get many Ferelden's up here."

As they ate, he told them he was on his way to Weisshaupt, and they made no attempt to inquire as to his business; it seemed they expected a Warden to be closemouthed. Apparently, the men from Mont Vieuxmur came here fairly often because it was the nearest inn.

When they were finished eating, Genevieve refilled his cup of wine and began gathering the dishes. "Marcel, could you please draw some water from the well for the washing before you run off to Clarice."

He turned to look at her. "Bertelot told me you needed me here in case there was any trouble. What makes you think I'm going there tonight?"

She tapped her foot and sighed. "You _did_ tell her you would be there, tonight."

Sheepish, he admitted, "Well, yes, but I thought I'd wait until you'd closed up and gone to bed, not leave you with a customer." He glanced over at Alistair.

"I won't tell if you don't. Go ahead, just don't forget to draw the water. I doubt there will be anyone else tonight and Monsieur Alis-terre seems harmless enough."

"Harmless? He's a Grey Warden!"

"All the better. If I do get some troublesome customers tonight, he can deal with them. Go on, now."

Marcel returned briefly with two pails full of water then retreated after one last, narrow-eyed look at Alistair.

Alistair finished his wine and started to rise from his chair. "Perhaps I should retire and leave you to close up."

"Not a chance…don't go anywhere. I'll just be a moment and I'd like some company." Her eyes looked met his. "I think you could use some company, too. You seem a bit…subdued." She poured him another cup of wine as he sat back down.

When she had completed her task, she sat down beside him again. "Marcel…seemed reluctant to leave you here with me. Does he not like the Wardens? Or…"

She considered, "Well, maybe he doesn't like the Wardens so much. Some of them can be a handful. Godefroi—he's one of the men from Mont Vieuxmur-did thrash him badly once."

"Why?"

"Marcel was just trying to do his job. Godefroi's not so bad when he's sober, but he's a mean drunk. Expect he got a thrashing himself, though, from Lorens back at the post when he found out. Lorens-he's the Senior Warden there—now that's the one I'd be scared of."

"You don't mind the wardens, though?"

"They're good customers. And they tend to be well put together men," she commented, looking up him up and down. He could feel his cheeks burning.

"Are there any women at Mont Vieuxmur?"

"Only one, Yolant. I don't know her as well as the guys, though."

"Why not?"

She shrugged. "I guess we just don't have much in common to talk about."

He gave her a curious look. "You have more in common with the men?"

A slight smile. "With men…it's not so important to have things in common, I think. You seem…different than the other Wardens, though."

"Not so well put together, perhaps?"

She chuckled. "I wouldn't say _that_. But a lot of the Wardens I've met are…pretty hard men, rough sorts. You seem…"

"Soft and harmless? Well, Wardens come from a lot of different backgrounds. We recruit talent where we find it. Maybe it's because I was sent to the chantry to become a Templar when I was a child."

"Maybe. Even being willing to say what you were before you joined the Wardens makes you different from any others I've met. But Id guess you're not as gentle as you appear. I bet you've seen your share of battle. How did you get this scar?" She reached out and traced it from his temple to where it disappeared beneath his beard. He nearly jumped out of his seat at the physical contact. No one had touched him since he had left Val Royeaux.

"I was fighting a Hurlock Alpha in the Battle of Denerim."

"A Hurlock Alpha? What's that?"

He had been silly to imagine that those words would mean anything to her. "We call the man-sized Darkspawn Hurlocks," he explained. "The Alphas are their strongest leaders."

"A Darkspawn? In Denerim?" Understanding dawned. "You were fighting the Blight, then. I guess I should have guessed when you said you were from Ferelden, but you must have been so young then. And it must have been…terrible…"

"No!" His own response and its vehemence surprised him and his first inclination was to turn it into a joke. "Camping in the middle of nowhere, running for our lives, endless battles with darkspawn, constant brushes with death—what could be more fun than that?" Then he stopped. "But you know, it's strange. I almost miss those days. We were fighting _for _something, something bigger than just us. There was purpose. And I was…in love."

Purpose. He had not given it much thought when he had been with Aedan, but now that he was alone, he felt his lack of direction keenly. Though he had tried to forget it, even deny it, he was the last of a great line of kings. He wondered if he had lost his destiny, if he had been _meant_ to end the Blight with his death or rule Ferelden, rather than be one Grey Warden among many. Aedan would have argued with that, said that a man's birth did not dictate his path, that there was no great plan. Even the Chantry said that the Maker had turned away from us. But still, he wasn't sure…

She patted his hand, distracting him from his thoughts. "Did you lose her, in the Blight?"

"No." He shook his head and was silent for a moment. "I—let's talk about something else. Tell me something about you."

"Me? There is little to tell. My mother served in this very inn. I grew up here."

"What about your father?"

"Mother never told me who he was." She shrugged. "Maybe she didn't know, although—"

"So you're a bastard, like me. Sorry, I shouldn't have—"

"It's okay. Actually, I've always suspected Bertelot was my father, though he's never admitted it, not even after his wife died. But he kept my mother fed and housed when she was heavy with me, and so I've wondered…"

"You don't think he was just being kind? Surely no one would throw a pregnant woman out?"

"You don't know him. And you'd be surprised…"

They sat and continued to talk and drink, though they spoke of little of importance. She had never traveled farther than Montfort, and all she knew of the world outside it came from talking to travelers like himself. He told her about Ferelden, that there was more to it than warhounds. He had not realized how much he missed ordinary conversation. He had been alone on his way to Orlais as well, but it had felt different, then.

By the time he rose unsteadily to his feet to go to his room for the night, the rain had stopped and the crescent moon had risen high above the horizon. "Let me light your way," Genevieve said, holding a candle and taking his hand as they went upstairs.

She placed the candle in the holder outside the door and said, "You know that it is bad luck to lie alone on the final night of Midsummer? They say that it's a sign that you will die alone." He could smell the scent of honeysuckle blossoms as she leaned in close to him. "I would spare you that fate."

"No, I didn't. I—You hardly know me." He stammered.

She shrugged. "Does it matter? You are a kind and handsome man, and I would like to please you." She drew her arms around him, "You're so nervous. Why? Has there been no one since the love you spoke of?"

"There has never been anyone else. I thought there never would be."

"You must free yourself," she whispered into his ear. "Let me…"

_Free himself. If only it were so easy._ Yet he let Geneevieve and his body take control and followed her into the room.


	3. Mont Vieuxmur:  A Burned Village

MONT VIEUXMUR: A BURNED VILLAGE

Aedan had asked him once if he wondered what it would be like to make love to a woman. He had lied and said no, sensing that the truth would have hurt his lover, though he did not know if he had been believed. Aedan had been with women and found that they were not for him, but Alistair had never been certain about himself. Maybe simple curiosity was why he had allowed Genevieve to seduce him, he thought, as he mounted Sommerled.

Or maybe it had been those words: _You know that it is bad luck to lie alone on the final night of Midsummer? They say that it's a sign that you will die alone._ He wondered if people really said that or if she had made it up. It was possible that she knew how Wardens usually died, and guessed that that would strike close to the bone. In retrospect, it seemed obvious that she had been intimate some of the Wardens from Mont Vieuxmur. She may even have known that a Warden was unlikely to sire an unwanted child. It was not impossible, but it was improbable, and grew more so as the taint grew in a Warden.

He still could not say for certain if he preferred men. The experience had lacked the passionate intensity he had shared with Aedan, but that may not have been because she was a woman, but because she was a stranger. He had felt as shy and awkward as he had that first night with Aedan, and had been too embarrassed to admit he had never been with a woman before. It had been unsettling to be touched by a stranger so intimately, and the startling soft mounds of flesh of her breast and buttocks had been foreign territory for him. With Aedan, he had always been able to use how his own body responded to his touch to inform how to give pleasure, but with her, he had had to rely on observing her reactions. She had seemed pleased enough with his performance, but he had heard that women sometimes feigned pleasure to please their partners. A man's arousal and satisfaction were not so easily counterfeited.

It bothered him to have used another person to satisfy his curiosity. Not that she had minded being used. In fact, it was clear she had planned to seduce him from the start. No doubt that was why she had sent Marcel away after dinner.

Such thoughts occupied him as Sommerled trotted north along the road, but his senses came to full alert when he caught a faint whiff of smoke on the breeze. Searching the horizon, he sptted a column of dark smoke rising and drifting toward him from the plain in the shadow of a small keep. _A forest fire? But there was so much rain last night!_

Should he investigate? He hesitated, recalling the near-fatal disaster he had fallen into on the way to Val Royeaux. Still, he was more aware of his surroundings than Aedan had generally given him credit for, if not possessed of Leliana's supernatural sharpness of sight and hearing. Sybille had commented to him once that she thought Aedan sometimes treated him more like his son than his lover. He knew what she had meant, but it had rarely bothered him. Perhaps it should have. He decided to take a side trip through the fallow field on the right to see if he could learn the source of the smoke.

He had not traveled far when he came upon a sad procession of dozens of peasants, mostly women and children making their way across the landscape. They were heavily laden with packs as if carrying all their posessions. They paused when they saw him, preparing to yield way for the _chevalier_, he supposed. He hailed them and asked what had happened.

A woman in the torn and soiled gown of a chantry sister stepped forward. "_Mon sieur_, our village was set upon by bandits last night who murdered the Templars at the chantry and any others of the village who dared oppose them. They had—no real chance against armed men but the—tried to defend their families and what was theirs. Then they burned the village just for…sport, I think."

"That's horrible! If I can help in any way…" Despite having encountered people who had lost everything many times in his life by now, he was always at a loss for words. "What about the lord of that keep? Did he not defend his people?" He looked toward the castle, only now recognizing that it appeared in poor repair.

"No one has lived there for a century and the bandits have made it their camp now. The property of the barony was inherited by a Comte who was a distant relative by marriage a few generations ago. This small holding is far from the rest of his demesne…"

"But where will you go? And what of the crops?"

She shook her head. "We are going to the Cathedral in Mormont where I hope that we can find shelter until the bandits are killed or driven away. If we send word to the Comte, surely he will send men to protect his property…" The people around her looked doubtful.

"The steward never comes around except to collect taxes in the fall," one woman grumbled.

"How many bandits are there?" he asked.

"A score, maybe a bit more."

Too many for him to think of taking on by himself. But not so very many, and if they were only common bandits…"What of the Wardens at Mont Vieuxmur?" he asked.

"The Wardens? Why would they take an interest?"

"I am on my way there and I will tell them of your plight."

"Thank you, kind _sieur_…I would not have thought to seek aid from them, but perhaps…" She did not look particularly optimistic. She smiled and thanked him again when he gave her what coin he could spare. It would mean little spread among so many, but they could at least buy a few meals in Mormont. He sat upon his horse and watched them as they went back down the road toward Mormont, wishing that he could have done more to help. But once he had persuaded the Wardens to drive the bandits off, he could send word to them in Mormont, and they could begin to try and rebuild their lives.

It was not long before he could see the towers of Mont Vieuxmur rising from the small keep, much smaller than the fortress at Coteaux du Roches. It appeared to have been built on a larger fortification that might well date back to the old Tevinter Imperium, judging by the colonnade on one of the ruined outbuildings. He guided Sommerled up the steep trail that led to the keep's gate. As he approached, he called out, "I am Alistair, a Senior Warden of Amaranthine. I seek entry to Mont Vieuxmur and an audience with the first of the keep."

The gate was lowered and a dark-eyed man about his own age welcomed him into the keep. "Welcome, brother. I am Julien, a junior warden here. You say you came from Amaranthine? Isn't that in Ferelden?" He nodded. "You've come so far…I'm sure that Lorens will interrupt what he's doing to speak with you. I think it's just a training exercise." As they walked together down the hall, Julien glanced over at him, "I…hope I do not offend, but you look very young to be a senior warden."

He chuckled. "I guess I was judged to have earned my seniority in battle when I had been a Warden barely a year. It was an eventful year."

Julien's brown eyes widened, "You…you fought the Blight in Ferelden? But I thought there were only two..."

"Yes. Me and Aedan against the Archdemon. And a few non-warden friends" Even though he had lived it, it still sounded improbable. Aedan's recounting of it was still fresh in his mind, yet it almost seemed a tall tale from a bard, not a memory.

"It is an honor to meet you, Alistair. I am certain that Lorens will wish to see you immediately."

The junior Warden ushered him out a door from the great hall that led into an interior courtyard where several Wardens were sparring.

Alistair sat down on the steps. "I will wait until he is finished what he is doing."

He watched Lorens, a big broad-shouldered man with thinning grey hair instructing a younger Warden in some of the basic shield moves. He was a powerful man with fine technique, but not as quick as Alistair. Although he knew he would never cross swords in anger with this man, it was an instinctive reaction to size up those he saw fight as opponents.

When he was done with his instruction, Julien approached him. "We have a visitor…" he started to say.

"Yes, yes, I can see that. And I know he's a Warden." Not waiting for an introduction, he strode toward Alistair. "Welcome to Mont Vieuxmur, brother. I am Lorens, the Senior Warden here."

"I am Alistair, a senior warden of Amaranthine."

His eyes widened slightly. "It is an honor to meet you. Let us go to a more comfortable room. You must have great need to venture so far from Ferelden to our small post."

They climbed the stairs in the main hall together and then passed through a door to a small room where Lorens sat behind a desk and gestured for Alistair to take the chair opposite him. "So what brings you from so far away?"

"Two things. Firstly, I am on my way to Weisshaupt and seeking advice on the road."

He opened a drawer in the desk and unrolled a map of western Thedas. "You can take the road from here to Ghislain, then up to Nessum in Nevarra and then cross the Silent Plains to the Imperium, picking up the Imperial Highway here." He traced the path with his finger across the map. "Then you follow the road to Val Dorma and there's a small sideroad up to Wiesshaupt from there."

Alistair frowened. "That seems a very long way. Is there no quicker route? Yves spoke of high passes that needed to be reached before the snows."

Lorens raised a bushy eyebrow. "There _is_ another way. You can continue along the road to the west from Ghislain to Anderal's Reach. From there, there's an old track—very few other than Wardens use it—that passes through the Blasted Hills near Kal Sharok and then across the high plateau to Weisshaupt. But I must say that it's not a road I would recommend to one traveling alone, however skilled. There are several entrances to the Deep Roads near it—in fact, it's used by Wardens often when gathering blood for the Joining."

It was odd that Yves had not mentioned this, and simply assumed that they would be choosing that path. Then again, Yves had thought he would be traveling with Aedan, and Alistair knew that they were far more formidable together than either by themselves. They had fought together so often that there was a synergy in their movements that made them more than the sum of their parts. "Even so, I will risk it. I do not wish to delay any longer than necessary." He wondered if he were being foolish.

"It's not my place to tell you what to do, but…it is a dangerous path. It's a wild track and you may encounter a variety of dangerous monsters and wild animals, and possibly Darkspawn. And water may be scarce. But if you insist, I will ask Godefroi to give you the best description of the track—I believe he is the only one here who has followed it. But you spoke of two things…what is your other purpose?"

"On my way here, I came across a large number of farmers who were fleeing bandits that had burned their village."

Lorens' brow furrowed. "Do you think they pose a threat to us? Would they really have the audacity to attack a Warden outpost, even a small one?"

Alistair shook his head. "No. Quite the contrary, I was hoping that you would drive them off. The land is held by a Comte whose lands are far away and his people were defenseless…"

His eyes narrowed and he nodded. "I believe I can guess which village it is, then. The Comte is a child; his father died in the Nevarran wars. But it is no business of ours. I will not risk my men."

Alistair persisted, "But surely, common bandits would be overmatched by Wardens. I would guess that with even four or five of your men, I could…"

"I will _not_ assign command of any of my men to some foreign Warden, no matter how accomplished!" he retorted, a vein pulsing in his brow.

Alistair lowered his eyes. "I did not mean to offend. I only sought aid for those poor people."

"Besides," the other warden continued, "it would be viewed as an aggressive move by other landowners in the vicinity. It could be used as a pretext for a land grab by the Wardens. The Comte holds the fief on behalf of his liege and it's his responsibility to protect his serfs. I don't know how things are in Ferelden, but surely Commander Cousland does not go chasing common criminals in the lands of neighboring uh..banns." The last word had a slightly questioning note; he was not sure of the titles in Ferelden, though he had it right.

Aedan would if he saw the need, and worry about any consequences later. That was one of the things Alistair had loved about him…but could that willingness to ignore law and custom not also be a failing? Aedan also had a tendency to ignore the distinction between the Wardens and the regular forces of the Arling, occasionally employing them to assist in law enforcement and maintaining order. Alistair knew that this annoyed Wardens who had been trained outside Ferelden, but it had always seemed sensible to him. When there were no Darkspawn to fight, did it really make sense to have a powerful fighting force sitting idle?

Alistair rubbed his forehead. "But what will happen to the villagers?"

Lorens shrugged. "If the Comte will not or cannot deal with it himself, I suppose the Duc de Mormont will step in and claim the land forfeit. I'm sure it will all be sorted out in due time. We cannot expect to right every ill that befalls the peasants. No doubt you had to leave many worse situations during the Blight."

Alistair thought back to their departure from Lothering, even as the first waves of Darkspawn began to attack the town. _But we couldn't have stopped the horde there. We tried to help people when we could…_But he saw that the man's mind was made up and it would be pointless to debate further. Resigned to his failure to aid the villagers, he sought out Godefroi's advice on the coming journey.


	4. Ghislain: Antivan Massage

As he rode north, the landscape gradually changed. The rolling hills subsided into flat plains and the dense stands of forests that had been common further south in Orlais vanished. There were trees still, but they seemed mostly restricted to the banks of streams and little woodlots of olive trees and small, shrub-like oaks near the villages.

He had thought Val Royeaux hot, but the sun here was even higher in the sky and had a searing intensity that he had never experienced before. He understood now why Zevran had found Ferelden so cold and damp, for Antiva lay even further north and was doubtless warmer still.

Despite the fierce sun, these lands were still fertile. The flat open country was carpeted with tall stands of golden grain. The blazing sun shone from a vast blue sky…except sometimes late in the day, when dark masses of cloud rolled in, shot through with lightning. The rains were brief but intense, and the winds blew across the open plains without obstruction.

He reached Ghislain in the first days of Solis. It was the last major city he would see before Weisshaupt, so he spent some time in the markets ensuring that he had sufficient healing herbs and supplies for a long journey. On his way, he passed a huge colonnaded structure with a sort of crumbling grandeur that must have been built when the Imperium still held sway over these lands.

A sign beside the imposing archway that led inside read "Ghislain Baths". _A real Tevinter bath house still in operation?_ The Imperium had built massive aqueducts to bring water to the cities and furnaces to heat the water for these baths…all with slave labor, no doubt. There had been one in Denerim as well, but it had been destroyed long ago, and Alistair knew of them only from books.

When he had been younger, bathing had not been a priority in his life. He had thought himself clean if he had rinsed his face and hands in a bucket of water. And of course during the Blight there had rarely been much opportunity for it, aside from a quick dip in a cold stream.

But Aedan had grown up with servants to draw water from the wells and heat it for his bath, and Alistair had learned the pleasure and luxury of regular bathing at Amaranthine. _You've grown soft, _he chided himself. Still, the idea of relaxing in a hot _caldarium_ after weeks of hard riding had an immediate appeal. He decided that he would stop into the baths as soon as he had found a room at an inn and a stable for Somerled.

He entered the bath house in the early evening and an attendant collected his clothes as he disrobed. "Will you be using only the baths, or would you like a massage, as well?"

A massage sounded delightful. He was unused to spending so much time on horseback and he was beginning to wonder if he would be walking bowlegged for the rest of his life after this trip. "A regular massage or Antivan?"

"Uh..Antivan, I guess." He didn't have a clear idea what the difference would be, but he had vague recollections of Zevran mentioning a ritual involving rubbing of oils into the skin prior to giving tattoos—not that Alistair had really been _serious_ about wanting a tattoo. Presumably, the Antivan massage was better—it was certainly pricier—so he went with that.

"Very good, _mon sieur_. Would you prefer a girl or a boy."

He felt he would need someone with strong hands to deal with his sore muscles, so he requested the strongest boy available. He paid his fee, was given a towel, and was told to soak in the hot steam of the _caldarium_ before proceeding to his massage room.

The baths were not busy at this time of day, but that was fine with him as he was unused to being nearly naked in the presence of strangers. As it happened, he could scarcely see who else was in the _caldarium_ through the thick steam. He lay back and relaxed as the sweat beaded on his skin. After letting the moist heat penetrate his aching muscles, he got to his feet and moved on to the massage room.

The "boy" proved to be only a little younger than Aedan had been when they had met, and with a similar lean and wiry build, though taller. His name was Josson. Alistair lay flat on the table as the boy worked olive oil with a faint floral scent into his skin, scraped off the oil, then wiped him with a wet cloth before beginning the massage.

"So many scars," the young man commented. "You're a warrior?"

"Actually, I'm a chef. I'm just very clumsy when I'm peeling vegetables."

His masseur laughed. "Go on now, really?"

"I'm a Grey Warden."

"Oh." There was a slight pause. "You've come from…far away? Your accent is strange."

"I'm from Ferelden."

"Very far. I've never been more than a few days walk from Ghislain." He could hear a certain yearning in the young man's voice. His hands worked deeper into Alistair's shoulder blades and pushed and pulled at his neck. They moved further down into the small of his back.

"We'll need to get the towel off now."

"Uh…is that really necessary."

Josson laughed. "Come, you must be saddle sore from so long a ride. I promise you'll feel so much better."

With some discomfort, he allowed Josson to remove his towel and begin the same treatment to his buttocks and thighs. The sensation of a man's hands moving in places where no one but Aedan ever touched him was disturbing—and arousing. He struggled to keep his mind from drifting to other nights, but the physical memory was too intense.

"Now your other side," commanded Josson and began to lift to turn him over.

"I—don't think that's a good idea," stammered Alistair in sudden alarm. He was acutely aware that he was flushing…and it wasn't only to his face that his blood was rushing.

The young man laughed again, "I don't see anything for you to be ashamed of. Quite the contrary! Let me help you with that…"

Afterward, Alistair sat and ate alone in his room at the inn, disgusted with himself. He should have guessed that Antivan massage meant more than just a backrub, knowing what Antivans were like. Why had he not resisted? What was happening to him? He had been taught that intimacy meant something, that it was not just about a moment's physical release. Though he was not a devout follower of the Chantry in many ways, he still believed that.

When he had been younger, it had not been so difficult. What he had told Aedan when they met—that there had been no opportunities for him—had not been strictly true. He could have played around with some of the other Templars, or with tavern wenches or whores, as many of the others did. He had been disciplined, then. But after six years with Aedan, he had become used to being satisfied regularly. And now…he was more on edge than ever before. He had been avoiding even pleasuring himself because he found he could not do it without his thoughts drifting to his former lover…the way the stubble on Aedan's chin had felt against his inner thighs…

It was simply a matter of discipline, he told himself. He would not continue this way. If he never found another person who was special to him the way Aedan had been, well, he would exercise self-control, as he had in his youth. In any event, he would soon be entering the wild country of the Blasted Hills, where there would be no temptations.


	5. The Blasted Hills:  A Dry Spring

The approach to the blasted hills was like a vast staircase—broad plateaus broken up by steep escarpments. Towns and villages became more scarce as Alistair approached the northwestern frontier of Orlais. Only near streams was there sufficient water to grow crops; elsewhere the landscape was dominated by a small shrub that gave off a distinctive, spicy odour. He asked about it in Andoral's Reach and was told it was called sagebrush.

The heat was still intense during the day, but the nights were cooler here. Godefroi had warned him that while there were darkspawn and other dangers on this road, the greatest threat might be thirst. In Andoral's Reach, he bought many leather sacks for holding water and was careful to fill them whenever he came across streams. He had made good time on his journey, arriving before the end of Solis, long before snow would become an issue, but the heat of summer made water even more precious. And as dry as it was here, Godefroi had said it would be worse on the Anderfels side of the hills.

The hills themselves formed a weird and unfamiliar landscape. Hills in Ferelden were smooth, rounded features, covered in grass or trees. These "hills" were more like enormous rocks, flat topped and steep sided. Some were made of a sandstone that was stained in many colors: maroon, cinnabar and ochre. Others were made of chalk so white it looked like bleached bone in the sunlight, as if the hills were the exhumed remains of some vast corpse.

Between the ranges of hills stretched barren, stony plains. There was little forage for Somerled; Alistair hoped that the scattered clumps of sagebrush would be sufficient to sustain his poor horse. Sometimes there were lakes, but he had been warned that the wide white flats that surrounded these lakes were salt, and their waters were not potable.

Fortunately—or perhaps by design—the track crossed several streams running down from the snowcapped peaks of the Hunterhorn mountains to the northwest. Alistair and Somerled made their way to the bottoms of the canyons to drink deeply of their waters when they encountered them, and he gathered as much as he could carry, while Somerled devoured the rushes that grew along the stream banks.

Following Godefroi's advice, Alistair had begun huddling in the shade of his tent during the hottest part of the day, to try and conserve water. He shed his armor, wearing only his underpadding and his helmet, to protect his head from the sun, to try and stay cool. He traveled only in the early morning and at dusk. He would have traveled at night, but the trail was too hard to follow in the dark. He met no people on the road and saw no sign of any other recent camps.

Despite all his care, he was running low on water by the time he neared the borders of the Anderfels. According to the map, there was a spring that emerged from a rocky slope not far from the road, so he kept his eyes open, watching for a copse of green trees in this thirsty land. In anticipation of refilling his sacks of water at the spring, he had been giving much of the water to Somerled. He had no experience to judge how much water horses needed and feared pushing him too hard.

The sun was setting when he spotted the splash of green amid the deep purple shadows beneath a sandstone cliff. He breathed a sigh of relief and approached it, hacking his way through the dense brush that surrounded the pool fed by the spring. He made his way into the heart of the little woodland…and found nothing but a bare patch of cracked mud. The spring had run dry. He made a brief futile attempt to dig into the mud, in the hopes of finding water beneath the surface, but struck a hard pan only a hand beneath the surface.

Cursing silently, he counted the remaining sacks of water he had with him, worried that they were not sufficient. Godefroi had said that there were some plants that had thick juicy leaves that could be eaten for their water, but he had seen only a few of these.

For the first time, it occurred to him that he might die here: a pointless, stupid death. It was unlikely anyone would even find out what had befallen him. He recalled Zevran once telling him that when he had taken the job to assassinate the Wardens, he had been fed up with the Crows, fed up with himself, and had not much cared if he'd lived or died.

Alistair wondered if he had chosen this reckless path out of self-disgust. He had made no conscious decision to throw his life away, but his only reason for taking the more direct, but more dangerous route, had been haste. And what had he been in such a hurry for? He gave a heavy sigh. There was no point in contemplating it now. He let Somerled forage on the dense foliage that surrounded the dried out pond, while he tried to work out a plan.

It was diffcult for him to judge how much water he needed to survive for himself, and even less for a horse. In Ferelden, thirst was rarely a problem. Perhaps the situation was less dire than he thought, perhaps not; he could not really say. He recalled a tale he had once heard where in extreme need, the men had slaughtered their animals and drank their blood to survive, but could not imagine doing such a thing to Somerled. He knew that killing him outright might be kinder than letting him die a slow death, but if he had led the stallion to his death, he thought grimly, he would share the same fate himself. There was no choice but to continue, drinking as little water as he dared and sharing what little he had with his horse.

Five days later, his head was throbbing and he began to feel dizzy. He had urinated only once in the past day, a small trickle of brown fluid. He knew that water, even a little, would make him feel better, but was determined to hold out a little longer, to stretch out his meager water supply as long as he could. He was probably in the Anderfels already, he hoped to find a village and water soon.

He had bedded down for the afteroon, avoiding the heat of the day, when something stirred at the edge of his awareness. Darkspawn. It should not have been a surprise, for an entrance to the Deep Roads was near here according to his map, but in his confused state, he had forgotten. He waited to see if they would sense him and come after him. He was only one lone Warden after all, perhaps they wouldn't notice? He felt a coward, but he wasn't sure if he was fit to fight, and the pain in his head made it too hard to estimate how many there were. But fortune was not with him; the feeling of their taint intensified. They were coming closer. Well, he was a Grey Warden. Fighting Darkspawn was his calling. He put his armor back on, and left his tent to face them.

The wind had picked up, blowing dust across the stony plain. Shielding his eyes against the sun and dust, he could make out four figures approaching. Two armored hurlocks with swords and two genlocks with crossbows. He judged them to be of the ordinary variety by the quality of their equipment. This was manageable. He advanced toward them, swinging his shield to deflect crossbow bolts. Andraste's blood, but he felt dizzy. _Concentrate._ _Discipline alone can save me._

He decided to go after one of the crossbowmen first. Summoning his strength and ignoring the pounding in his head, he charged forward. As expected, one of the hurlocks blocked his path, but he crushed him across the chest with his shield, knocking him flat. One quick thrust of the keening blade and the lightly armored genlock archer was impaled. As Alistair pulled his sword out, the creature fell forward and died. He felt a bolt hit him in the back, but it did not penetrate Evon's mail. He would be bruised, no more.

But now the other Hurlock swordsman was upon him. He whirled about parrying a blow that had been aimed at the junction of helmet and mail as he did so, and fending off another bolt with his shield. Then he felt a scorching heat and reflexively swung his shield up to protect his head.

_An emissary! By the Maker, how did I miss him?_ As they often did, however, the emissary had caught two of the Hurlocks in his flames as well as Alistair. Not for the first time, he wondered why they were so careless with their spells. True, there had been a few occasions when Wynne had inadvertently frozen him solid, but it seemed to happen with absurd frequency with the emissaries. Did they panic when they were rushed? Could they even panic?

He recovered from the blast of heat before the hurlocks and ran toward the emissary, nearly tripping over a large rock. There was never any choice but to go after an emissary immediately, even at the cost of exposing his backside to attack. He kept the remaining genlock on his left, so he could block the crossbow bolts with his shield as he advanced.

The emissary was tracing a rune of some kind in the ground before him, but Alistair knew how to neutralize such things. He focused his awareness in the way he had been trained as a child and the glowing rune faded. Pummeling the monster with his shield, he knocked it senseless and finished it off with his sword. As dangerous as spellcasters were from a distance, they were easily slain at close quarters.

He swayed on his feet, but ordered his mind to focus, spinning around to face the two hurlocks he knew would be at his back. Though it had been a while since his last fight with Darkspawn, he still found their attacks followed predictable patterns. This made it easier to defend against two than it would have been with men, parrying the one with the keening blade, the other with his shield, waiting for his chance for a deadly riposte. As luck would have it, the hurlock's advance meant that the genlock no longer had a clear shot at him and would have to reposition.

He sidestepped the hurlock on his left as it attempted a thrust, leaving it offbalance and he bashed a heavy body blow with his shield knocking it down. He then ducked as the other hurlock's sword whistled over his head and slashed upward with his blade. He felt the blade slice through its armor, bringing up a ribbon of tainted black blood across its chest. But its blade was coming toward him again and his position was awkward…but then it stopped, frozen in mid-motion. _Praise the Maker…and praise Sandal for the runes on his blade._

He quickly skewered the hurlock on his left, as it was still lying stunned from his shield blow then returned to the other before it could start to move again…and nearly dropped his shield as a crossbow bolt whizzed into the joint in his mail at his shoulder. The pain almost overwhelmed him, but he had done this many times before and did not allow it to distract him from decapitating the last hurlock.

Ignoring the numbness of his left arm, he advanced on the last of the darkspawn, his head down and his shield protecting his body from the bolts. The genlock tried to retreat but soon found itself trapped between Alistair and a boulder and was soon overcome. Alistair collapsed onto the genlock's body as it fell.

He pulled himself to his feet then nearly fell over again. He took off his helmet and rubbed his forehead, trying to remember where his tent and horse were. He applied an elfroot poultice to his arm while trying to collect his thoughts. And then he felt that old familiar feeling once more. _More Darkspawn._ And he was already exhausted.

Despite lying with Genevieve on the final night of midsummer, it seemed he would die alone after all. Maybe that was fitting. He had been alone must of his life, until Aedan. But there was no time for self-pity. He brushed aside the thought, the weariness in his legs, and the searing pain in his skull, and readied himself for one final battle.


	6. The Anderfels:  Friends in Odd Places

Alistair saw two figures approaching across the plain, their light grey robes flapping in the dry wind. One of them shouted something in an unfamiliar, guttural language. It occurred to him that Darkspawn did not usually shout or dress in robes. As they approached, their bows still strapped to their backs, they switched to Orlesian. "Brother Warden! We saw you from the pass, but were too far away to help."

He exhaled in relief. _Wardens_. In his addled state, he had mistaken their taint for Darkspawn, but as they came nearer, he could sense the difference and hailed them. The older man who had spoken before continued after glancing at the carnage surrounding Alistair, "It seems our assistance was not necessary. You are a formidable warrior, brother. I am Geizbart, and this is Schade. Might I have your name?"

"I am Alistair, from Ferelden. But I may need your assistance yet. I seem to have lost track of my tent and horse during the fight…"

The men looked puzzled. Geizbart held up a hand to quiet his companion. "Are you alright, Alistair? Could you have taken a blow to the head?" The tone expressed concern, not mockery. "Is that not your camp over there?"

Turning around, Alistair saw that he was no more than two hundred strides from Somerled. How could he have not seen him? Feeling foolish, he replied, "Never been better! Well…I haven't had much water the past few days…"

Geizbart's eyes widened and he pulled a leather sack from his belt, offering it to him. Alistair took off his helmet and drank as the other man touched his forehead. "Maker's breath, you're feverish…and you're not sweating!" He shook his head. "How could you possibly have fought all these Darkspawn in this state? Schade, help me get him out of his armor. We can lay him down in the shade of that rock there."

As they undressed him, despite his protests that he would be fine after he had had some water, Schade asked. "Did you say your name was Alistair? Are you the Alistair that fought the blight in Ferelden?"

"Yes."

"Really?" asked Geizbart. "It is an honor, Alistair. That explains your prowess in battle, then. I had thought perhaps it was a common name in Ferelden. I thought you would be…older."

"I had only been a Warden for six months before Ostagar."

"But how do you come to be in the wasteland alone, without any water?"

"I was on my way to Weisshaupt. I do have some water, but…there was a spring on my map that had dried out…so I was trying to drink as little as possible and share with my horse…until I found more."

Schade nodded. "It's been a very dry summer. Kaltemwasser sometimes dries up."

Alistair twisted his head to look over at Somerled. The sun had moved since he had set up camp, and the horse was no longer in the shadow of the red sandstone boulder. "Can you check on my horse? He needs water, too…if you can spare it. How far are we from water here."

"There is a village on the other side of that ridge we will return to for more water tomorrow . Schade, go and bring the horse over here. We'll see what we can do, but I'm not going to go back to Weisshaupt and tell the First that we lost Alistair of Ferelden but saved his horse!"

Alistair gave a dry chuckle. "I'm not so easily killed as that. But what of your assignment? You must have been on some sort of mission out here."

Geizbart shrugged. "There were reports of darkspawn activity in the area. Just routine scouting. And it seems you dealt with them," he gestured to the corpses littering the ground.

"What if there are more?"

He shrugged again. "Then we go out again, or other Wardens do. I have to assume that whatever brought you all the way here from Ferelden is more important than a few stray darkspawn in the wastes."

Schade returned, leading his horse. "The horse should be able to last until we go to Tiefbrunnen tomorrow."

A few days later, Alistair was staring up at the fortress of Weisshaupt, a place he had thought of often. The headquarters of the Wardens was not an especially welcoming sight. It was perched atop one of the steep-sided hills that were common in this land, its silhouette dominating the surrounding steppes and the town that huddled at its feet. The surrounding cliffs were deeply furrowed, as if some enormous beast had carved away the surrounding landscape with its claws. It was built of the same dark grey stone as the cliffs below it and the gryphon banner flew from every tower. It was a hard place, for hard men, built to be unassailable. But this was, in a way, his spiritual home. He hoped that here he would be able to find purpose again. He left Somerled at a stable attached to an inn in the town, then followed Schade and Geizbart up the long flight of the steps to Warden's Gate.


	7. Weisshaupt: the Hall of Heroes

Geizbart and Schade took leave of him after introducing him at the gatehouse. "While you would certainly be welcome to stay in the general barracks, I expect the First will make special arrangements for you. It was an honor to meet you, brother."

Alistair had waited only a few minutes when perhaps the only person in Weisshaupt he would recognize appeared: Girard la Breite. He was a dark, stocky, barrel-chested man perhaps ten or fifteen years older than Alistair, and served as a liaison between Weisshaupt and the northern reaches of Thedas. He visited Amaranthine once every year or two. Aedan disliked him, viewing him as Yves' stooge, but Aedan had either disliked or distrusted nearly every senior Warden from outside Ferelden. Alistair, however, had got on well enough with Girard in the past, and thought him a straight-forward and honorable man, if a little standoffish.

"Welcome to Weisshaupt, Alistair. It is good to see that you made it here at last. The First thought you might like to see a familiar face, so he sent me to greet you and show you to your lodgings here."

He had visualized Weisshaupt as an enormous castle, but upon passing through the gates it was obvious that it was more like a walled town. There was a large open courtyard where Wardens were training, a market area where food and clothing could be purchased, a bloomery for smelting metals for weapons and armor, houses, and even an inn. Still, the imposing dark bulk of the main keep dominated the fortress with its tall square towers. To his surprise, however, that was not where Girard was taking him. Instead, they walked past the keep to a four-story building that backed onto the outer wall. "We have hired a room in this guest house for your use on the third floor," he said, handing Alistair a key."

"We?"

"The High Council, which has been called to hear your account." Forestalling Alistair's inquiry, he added, "that is the First, and me, and a few others whom you will meet tomorrow." Before Alistair could ask more questions about this high council, Girard was already taking his leave, "I will leave you for a short time to give you some chance to recover from your journey, but must ask you to make yourself ready soon. The First wishes to speak with you privately before the council begins. I will be back shortly to take you to him."

Alistair climbed the stairs and opened the door to find a simple room with a single window looking out toward the market. It contained a bed, a desk, a small wardrobe, a bucket of water, a chamber pot. a fireplace that he imagined he would have no use for, but little else. Though he would have preferred to bathe before meeting the First, he made do by using the bucket to wash up and changed into his light chainmail shirt, over which he wore his silk clothes from Val Royeaux. He would have preferred something less gaudy, but he felt it was better than wearing the clothes he had been traveling in for weeks.

Girard had not been jesting when he said he would be back shortly, for he barely had time to unpack, wash and change before he returned. As they were leaving, Alistair noticed a group of men hauling barrels over the wall, presumably from the base of the cliffs far below, using a large pulley system and asked about it.

"Those are barrels of water. Weisshaupt is built on solid rock, so we have no well inside the walls. Water from wells dug into the plains below is hauled up here to serve all our needs."

"But is that not a great weakness in a siege?" Alistair asked.

"It is. However, we also have a system of drains running from the roof of every building in Weisshaupt to collect rainwater and carry it into great cisterns that have been carved out of rock below the keep. But rain is infrequent and unreliable here, so we do not dare touch that water, except at great need. Large stocks of food are also kept in cellars below the keep, where it is cool throughout the year. Make no mistake, Weisshaupt is prepared for a very long siege, should it be necessary."

Girard led him to a large building, second only in size to the main keep, and strikingly different from every other in Weisshaupt. It was not built out of the same dark grey rock as the rest of the fortress, but out of red sandstone, and its bright color stood out against its surroundings. And where every other building he had seen had been plain, rough-hewn stone—Alistair had never seen a less ornamented town—the façade of this one was covered with bas-reliefs of battle scenes. Its grand proportions reminded him of a cathedral, but he could see no chantry symbols upon it. The tall brass double doors at its entrance were engraved with the images of gryphons.

"The First will meet you inside." Thinking he was finished, Alistair began to climb the steps toward the doors, but Girard stopped him. "Alistair—I promised the rest of the Council that despite your…feelings for Commander Cousland, that you were a loyal Warden, and a man of honor who could be trusted to tell the truth, the whole story of the Fifth Blight. It was largely on _my_ advice that you were summoned here. I hope you will not disappoint me."

"I am not a liar, Girard," he replied. But he wondered how ready he had been to tell the truth when he had left Amaranthine. He had not even known the truth, but would he have been willing to divulge what he had known, that Aedan had done something with Morrigan, and who she was? His lover had been close-mouthed when the Wardens had first asked for his story, after the blight was over. He recalled that he had told them nothing of Flemeth, only that they had been saved and later assisted by an apostate mage. He had not really had a clear idea what he would tell the First when he first set out, but he had thought to protect Aedan, to take any blame and punishment onto himself. Now, well, even Aedan had said the time for secrecy was over. He would tell the truth, as much as he knew of it. But after the revelations of his last days with Aedan, he was beginning to wonder if he knew all of it yet…

He opened the heavy brass door and stepped into a small chamber that opened onto a much larger chamber beyond. Even the relative opulence of the exterior of the building had not prepared him for the dazzling interior. The hemispherical vault above was supported by alternating columns of red, green, black and white marble, and the walls covered with mosaics made of tiny colored glass tesserae. They glittered in the sunlight that filtered in through the alabaster sheets in the windows above him.

Although he knew he should not keep the First waiting, he could not help but pause and take in his surroundings. On one side were images of battle, of Wardens fighting darkspawn while the other had a seemingly innocent image of three young men and a young woman sharing a silver cup. Alistair knew better, of course; the cup they shared was a Joining chalice. _They chose not to show any new recruits lying dead on the floor._ He wondered how many non-wardens would understand the significance of what was happening in the scene.

But he had to move on into the larger chamber ahead, which nearly took his breath away. As he moved into it, he realized that the half-domed vault above the chamber behind him was one of eight that surrounded and supported a much larger central dome. It must have been nearly as high above the floor as the one on the Grand Cathedral in Val Royeaux, though its span was not as great. Straight ahead of him, coiled in the center of the room was a huge, almost life-sized sculpture of a dying Archdemon, its breast pierced by a two-handed sword. The sunlight that poured in from the dome, three hundred hands above it, drew the eye to its massive bulk. Standing in front of it was a grey-haired man of average height. He wore a plain grey silk tunic and no ornaments but a signet ring.

The man bowed to him. "Welcome, Alistair. You have made a long journey at our request."

Uncertain of protocol, Alistair decided to kneel. "Thank you…uh…my lord? First? I am sorry, I do not know how to properly address you."

The older man chuckled. "Rise. You may call me Anshelm. We are brothers and I will not demand formality from one who has fought an Archdemon." Then his blue eyes focused on him for a moment and Alistair was reminded—uncomfortably—of Teyrn Loghain. "I can see you wish to look around. Please do. I chose to meet you here for a reason."

The younger warden surveyed the hall around him. The three chambers on his left and the one straight ahead were similar to the one through which he had entered, their walls covered in frescoes. From what he could see, most depicted battle scenes. But the dominant feature of each of them was a statue on a polished stone pedestal, inscribed with a gryphon. There were words and numbers inscribed on the pedestasl too, but Alistair could not read them from where he stood.

The chambers to his right provided a stark contrast, as they were almost bereft of ornamentation. They had the same polished stone floor and marble columns as the others, but their walls were plain plaster and they contained no statues. The one in the far corner differed from the others in that a pedestal with an engraved gryphon had been made, but it stood empty and had no inscription.

"Do you understand what you see?"

"I…think so. These four chambers represent the blights. I assume that these statues are of the Wardens who died slaying the Archdemon?"

"Just so. This is the Hall of Heroes. The story of each Blight, and the Warden who ended it can be read in the mosaics, if one has the time and the eye. As soon as we felt the Archdemon's presence vanish, we commissioned the pedestal for the fifth chamber. But now…I have been asked more than once, why we have not placed a statue of Commander Cousland there. Not by senior Wardens, but the younger ones and the common people of Weisshaupt, who do not understand. Thus far, I have blamed insufficient funds, a need for skilled mosaicists from Tevinter…but the truth is, I do not know if Commander Cousland deserves to stand among those who gave their lives, or even whether the Fifth Blight is truly over."

Alistair paused, struck by the thought that instead of standing on the floor looking up at an empty pedestal, he could have, _should have_ been a statue standing upon it. Not that he had wanted to die, of course…but, we all must die eventually. What better death could a man have than to save the lives of millions and be commemorated here, to be remembered for generations? _At the age of eighty, surrounded by those he loves_, he could hear Aedan's voice replying in his head. But that was something a Warden could not have.

"There were Wardens who died fighting the Fifth Blight. Could you not erect a statue of Riordan…or Duncan…" After all these years, it still pained him that he had not been at Duncan's side when he fell, though he knew it was foolishness, that he would have died for nothing. "Aedan wouldn't care."

The First snorted. "Do you imagine _that_ matters to me? But everyone knows Cousland killed the Archdemon, and the others did not. It will only draw more questions if we erect it to some other Warden. And it still leaves the question of the Archedemon's fate. We need to decided what we must do to ensure that the Fifth Blight has truly ended._ That_ is why you are here: to answer for Urthemiel. "

Alistair didn't like the sound of those final comments. Yet he had known he could be censured or somehow punished from the start, and been willing to accept it. But still… "First…Anshelm…will Aedan be punished for what he has done?"

The older man sighed. "This an inquiry, not a trial. Whatever we may think of Commander's Cousland choices—or of yours—it is not the Grey Warden's way to discard useful tools. And how should we enforce our will on him, even should we wish to? I've no doubt his men are loyal to him and would not follow a Commander from outside and I'm not about to commit an act of war on Ferelden to try and apprehend the most popular Warden in Thedas. But if there is still something that needs to be done, or can be done, to ensure that Urthemiel cannot blight Thedas again, then that task may fall to you, if it can. And perhaps to Commander Cousland, if he can be so persuaded."

Alistair swallowed and nodded.

"But that must wait until we have heard the whole story. That is our immediate task. You will come to the Council Hall when Girard comes for you tomorrow and give an accounting of the Fifth Blight. And then we will deliberate until we can choose a course of action. Until then, I urge you to study the mosaics in this hall and think on those who have fallen in the service of Thedas, brother."

He turned, as if about to go, then changed his mind. "One other thing—a letter arrived for you, before you came." He handed Alistair a roll of parchment with a wax gryphon seal. _A letter from Aedan._


	8. Weisshaupt: The First Letter

Alistair stared at the parchment the First had given him, then decided that he would go to the tavern for a meal and a few pints of ale before reading it. The _Grau Greifen_, as the tavern was called, served him a hearty but plain meal of mutton stew and coarse rye bread. In Orlais, even taverns had used more herbs and spices than he was accustomed to, but it seemed the food of Anderfels was more akin to that of Ferelden. The service was polite, but incurious. The bartender and serving girl appeared to view the business of foreign wardens to be their own. For his part, Alistair drank his ale quietly, and thought about how the First had spoken to him, wondering if it had been a mistake to come. _This is not a friendly inquiry, if we go to Weishaupt we will be facing an interrogation_, Aedan had said, a lifetime ago. Still, surely he had to tell the First what had transpired.

Returning to his room later that evening, he lit a candle, took a deep breath and read:

_Alistair,_

_My dearest love._

_I hope that your journey to Weisshaupt went well. I cannot tell you how much I wish I was there with you, and I pray that you are treated with the courtesy and respect you deserve. I have sent a letter that should explain everything to the First, and absolve you of any blame. _

_I have been thinking about what you said. Maybe it's true. Maybe I have no honor. Maybe I'm selfish and unscrupulous and undeserving of your love. It may be that the way that I fight is emblematic of my approach to everything in life. I can't even say that my betrayal of Leliana was the first time I had broken a promise to someone who helped me. Ask Anora about that. Or Morrigan, for I did not slay her mother as she wished. I misread the stakes and made a horrible mistake. _

_Maybe you really didn't know me. I was always afraid that if you saw me as less than heroic that you wouldn't love me. That was why I concealed what I had done with Morrigan for so long, why I didn't tell you how I had gained Celene's assistance. I guess I abused your trust, just as I abused Leliana's. Every time I've deceived you or hid things from you it was out of fear of your disapproval. Was that the only way? Did I win your love falsely?_

_Perhaps it's true that the man you fell in love with was an illusion. But the man who loves you is real, and would do anything, try to be anything, to win you back, if you'll only give me another chance._

_I will return to Amaranthine, though the prospect of commanding the Wardens without you by my side is a bitter one. But I know that you would want me to do that, and so, I will, though I truly don't know how I will be able to do it without you. I don't know if you ever really understood how much I depend on your faith in me. I have always relied on you to give me strength and purpose. But I will go back there and wait and hope for your safe return. The hope that you might change your mind will have to be reason enough to keep me going._

_I love you. I need you. Please come home._

_With all my love, always,_

_Aedan_

_Oh Aedan!_ He thought to himself. Had he really believed Alistair had loved the Hero of Ferelden, not the man he was? _Or at least who I thought he was._ Of course, he had admired him, but…no one had ever cared for him and understood him like Aedan. He had thought that the pain of being alone again would recede, but it seemed he only missed him more. He had hoped that the Warden's stronghold would feel like home to him, but instead he felt more alone in Weisshaupt than he had in the wilderness. Reading Aedan's letter, he could hear Aedan's voice pleading for forgiveness in his head. It was almost too much to bear.

But he couldn't go back. Even though he had known Aedan told lies, he had always assured himself that his motives for dishonesty were always pure. He had not believed that Aedan would deceive him. Now, doubt nibbled at every word in the letter. Oh, he didn't doubt that Aedan loved him. But could he truly change? Would Alistair even be able to tell if he had? Aedan was clever with words and could feign sincerity better than anyone he knew. Even in this letter…Aedan would know how hard the line asking him to come _home_ would hit. Since he had been sent away from Redcliffe as a child, living in Amaranthine with Aedan had been the only time he had ever felt at home.

He was puzzled by the opening, which indicated that the First should already have had Aedan's account of what had happened. Yet Anshelm had spoken as though he still did not know, as if there were still action that might be taken. _But if there is still something that needs to be done, or can be done, to ensure that Urthemiel cannot blight Thedas again, then that task may fall to you, if it can. And perhaps to Commander Cousland, if he can be so persuaded, _he had said. If he knew that Aife had passed into another world, why would he say that?

Setting the letter aside, Alistair leaned out the window of his room, surveying the dark street below. _Maybe he does not believe Aedan's account. But knowing that I was coming, he surely would have told the truth, and I don't know anything more than what I experienced, and what he told me. If they don't believe me, what measures will they take to learn the "truth"?_ He shivered in the cool night air.

He settled into his sleeping pallet and tried to fall asleep. It seemed he had no choice but to speak the truth and hope that he was believed. He drew a wool blanket close about himself, and tried to avoid thinking of the warmth and comfort of Aedan's body.


	9. Weisshaupt: Ostagar Revisited

Alistair woke the next morning, put on fresh small clothes and polished his armor, then awaited Ricard. He considered wearing the fancy silk clothes Sybille had made for him but decided he wanted to present himself as a warrior. Although he knew he knew that Evon's mail would not protect him from the kind of danger he faced, somehow wearing his full armor made him feel more secure. Upon arrival, the older Warden led him to the keep where they entered a large room dominated by seven stone seats arranged along the far wall. The largest chair was in the center, and was occupied by the First, and Ricard took his place in the only empty stone seat, the one farthest to the left. He gestured for Alistair to take a smaller chair in the center of the chamber, facing the others that lined the wall.

"We thank our brother, Alistair, for undertaking a long journey to bring us his account of the Fifth Blight," said Anshelm. "You are all familiar with the remarkable story of how two young Wardens in Ferelden vanquished the Archdemon. However, a number of questions were left unanswered by Commander Cousland's account, and recent events have sharpened our interest in their answers. Before we begin, I would like to introduce the members of the High Council to the senior Warden from Ferelden. You have already met myself and Ricard. Also to my left are Scarlata of Antiva and Aristomachus of Minrathous, who serve us in a similar fashion to Ricard in the eastern and western lands of Thedas, respectively."

Scarlata was a tall, slender, sharp-featured woman with black hair, streaked with grey. She nodded to Alistair, looked him over with her dark eyes and gave a slight smile. Aristomachus was a heavy set, balding man with a long grey beard. He also nodded when introduced, but gave no hint of a smile. The lines in his face suggested a man who did not smile often.

"On my right," the First continued, "are three senior Wardens of Weishaupt: nearest me is Marschalc, my second here. To his right are Halfdan and Menashe."

Alistair bowed deeply to each warden in turn. It occurred to him that he was the youngest man in the room by at least ten years. Marschalc was a small, slightly built blonde man with a wispy moustache. Halfdan was a dark-haired dwarf who tapped his thick thighs with blunt fingers during the introduction, as if impatient to begin. Menashe was a green eyed elf, tall for his kind, and with the facial tattoos that marked him as Dalish in origin. _Although Zevran had those tattoos as well…_

There was one more person in the room, who had not been introduced. She was seated at a desk in a corner behind Alistair and to his right. Her long brown hair was tied back and her amber-colored eyes met his gaze.

Noting his curiosity, the First explained. "Ah, that Adelheid, our archivist. She is not a member of this Council, but I have asked her here to transcribe your account. In view of the…omissions from the report filed by Commander Cousland five years ago, we have decided that the report you give will be our official chronicle."

_So they have decided that they don't trust Aedan. _He supposed he couldn't blame them. "I was under the impression that you only wanted me to discuss the fate of Urthemiel."

The first shook his head. "We wish to hear the entire story through your eyes, Alistair. Please begin when you met Aedan Cousland."

_This is going to take a while._ It was fortunate that Aedan had recounted the story for Leliana and Sybille so recently, as it had refreshed his memory with many details he had forgotten. And he soon realized he was going to need details, for his audience interrupted him frequently with questions.

Marschalc was the first to stop him. "Wait, did you just say that you met the apostate mage Morrigan in the wilds, prior to Cousland's Joining? Aedan's report didn't mention that."

_So Aedan had concealed Flemeth from the Wardens. _He had not noticed that, but then he had paid scant attention to the report when his lover had written it five years ago. "Yes, we met her when we went to the ruins in search of the old treaties."

They had many questions about Morrigan, which he answered as best, and as objectively, as he could. They could hardly miss the fact that he disliked and distrusted her from the start, however. The councilors became more animated when the story turned to Flemeth.

Ricard asked, "You say the name Flemeth as though it has some significance. Should we know who she is? It sounds vaguely familiar…"

"It's the name of a…legendary witch of the wilds from centuries ago."

Halfdan snorted. "Do you really expect us to believe you met a five hundred year old woman in the Wilds? You said she has a daughter little older than yourself. A remarkable feat for a woman so ancient!"

Alistair sighed. "I don't know if she's really the original Flemeth or even if Morrigan is her daughter. All I can tell you is that's the name she gave us."

Aristomachus broke in, stroking his beard. "You said that she knew you were a Warden, and that she was able to take the scrolls that had been protected by Warden seals. Could she have been a Warden?"

"No, I would have known. She's not a Grey Warden. I don't know what she is."

"Did you tell Duncan about Flemeth when you returned to Ostagar?" asked Menashe.

"Yes, but he seemed distracted and didn't really ask about her. I think he was preoccupied by the coming battle."

Aristomachus' heavy brow furrowed. "Or maybe he already knew about Flemeth. Could he have sent you and Cousland into the wilderness _knowing_ that you would find her?"

"What? No, why would Duncan…that doesn't make any sense."

"I'm just trying to cover all possibilities. If she were working with Duncan, it would account for how she got the treaties and knew to find you. There's no chance that Cousland could have met Morrigan or Flemeth before, either?"

Alistair shook his head. "Impossible. Aedan had lived in Highever his whole life. It's a long way from the wilds."

Scarlata put in, "I think he's told us all he can. Please let the handsome young man continue with his story."

Anshelm leaned forward in his chair and pointed at the archivist. "Adelheid, can you see if we have anything on this Flemeth legend in the library and bring it to me tomorrow? Even if she were lying, the choice of name might have some significance." She looked up from her desk where she had been scribbling furiously to take down Alistair's words, and nodded.

Duncan's actions at Ostagar did not escape the Council's scrutiny, either. The First wanted to know why Duncan had put all the Wardens into the one battle, rather than leaving some in reserve.

"I suppose he was counting on the additional Wardens from Orlais coming so that even if the Ferelden Wardens all fell at Ostagar…"

"A risky choice," observed Menashe, brushing his hair back from his pointed ears. "And it was the King that asked for Wardens to light the beacon? So the only reason you survived the battle was King Cailan's whim…"

"Or was it a whim? Did he mean you to be his heir, should he fall in battle?" broke in Ricard.

"No—I mean—I don't think so. He certainly didn't declare me as his successor and hardly anybody knew about me so…no. Anyway, why is this relevant? I thought this was an inquiry into _our_ actions?"

Anshelm sighed. "We're trying to understand the chain of events that placed responsibility for the fate of an entire country into the hands of two young, inexperienced Wardens. One of the reasons why we value the official chronicles of the Blight so highly is that they provide instruction. What has worked in the past, what hasn't worked in the past, what mistakes to avoid…"

_So now we were a mistake. _Controlling his irritation, Alistair added, "In any event, he could not have known we would survive when the battle was lost. If Flemeth hadn't rescued us…"

"What? Aedan's account credited Morrigan with that," pointed out the elf.

"I…it seems Aedan did not want to tell you about Flemeth."

"So what really happened, then?" the Antivan woman asked.

Alistair summarized the events of the tower and how they had been overwhelmed by Darkspawn after lighting the beacon. "And then we awoke in Flemeth's hut. Morrigan told us that Flemeth had 'turned into a giant bird and plucked us from the top of the tower', and then tended our wounds."

"And is that what you believe?" inquired the First.

"What else should I believe? Morrigan is a shapechanger, as well, though I never saw her change into anything so large."

"A giant _bird?_" the Tevinter asked, lifting a finger.

The First turned to him. "Does that suggest something to you?"

"I—perhaps, but no, it's impossible. Forget I said anything." The other elf—_probably the other mage in the room_, Alistair thought—glanced over at him, but said nothing.

Anshelm spoke again. "Did this Flemeth say _why_ she saved you from the tower?"

"Aedan asked her but she just claimed that she wanted the Blight to be defeated. But…in retrospect, I think it must have been her plan to send Morrigan with us, to…capture the old god's soul. Aedan told you about that in the letter, right?"

They nodded, then the dwarf spoke. "But I don't understand how they even knew how slaying an Archdemon worked. Why would you tell them the central secret of our Order?"

"Tell them? Neither of us knew ourselves. We had no idea until Riordan told us the next year."

The First frowned. "So, again, this Flemeth seems privy to knowledge and abilities of the Wardens…yet she is not a Warden, you are sure."

Alistair continued his story, concluding with their decision to try and gather the armies themselves.

"And that seemed a reasonable idea to you?" asked the Second of Weisshaupt.

"I didn't see that we had any other choice. Orlais was weeks away…"

"Blights do not move that quickly," observed Ricard. "You had time."

"But how were we supposed to know that? I had been a Warden for _six months_. I knew hardly anything about the past blights. Besides, what good would it have done? You all _knew _we were facing a Blight, you must have known! _You_ had time."

Anshelm closed his eyes and turned away. "Loghain would not let us into the country. What would you have had us do? Take the side of his opponents in the civil war?"

"You could have _helped us._ There was no need to come in as an army, merchants went back and forth the whole time."

"We tried to find out what was going on in Ferelden…"

"You sent one man! And I think Riordan only came because he was from Ferelden. With a team of Wardens, Aedan and I could have concentrated on getting the nobles to side against Loghain while the others gathered the armies." This was a familiar debate, yet for some reason Alistair found himself arguing the side Aedan had always taken. It was unsettling to hear the excuses he himself had always made for the Wardens from the mouths of others.

"We didn't know about the treaties. We didn't know about _you_."

"Loghain was tearing up Ferelden trying to find two Wardens that survived Ostagar. I can't believe nobody in Orlais ever heard about it. You left Ferelden to be destroyed!"

"How _dare_ you talk to the First like that? Show some respect, brother!" said Marschalc, his fist clenched.

Ricard turned to the first. "Allow me to respond, Anshelm. Alistair, you must understand. We had heard rumors that two Wardens had survived Anshelm, but we did not know that you had the old treaties in your possession, and we—Yves and I mostly—assumed that you would simply go into hiding, or flee to Orlais, or be caught. We underestimated you." He sighed. "We thought Ferelden doomed, unless Loghain could be overthrown. We had not the numbers for an invasion and the Empress would not go to war with Ferelden to save it. So we waited with the _chevaliers_ for the horde to come through the passes from the Frostback Mountains."

"I don't think there's much point in discussing it further. Ricard, you acted on the information you had. And while our young friend's plan might sound absurd, it did, after all, largely work, so…" Scarlata shrugged, "let him get on with the story."

Alistair took a deep breath and allowed the unexpected surge of anger to dissipate, then explained how they had left Flemeth's hut, taking Morrigan with them. "No, I already _told _you, I didn't trust her, but Aedan felt we needed all the help we could get. I remember him saying once that she was useful; he didn't have to like her. And—I must admit—I'm not sure we could have survived some of the battles we faced without her magic."

"But why was it _his_ decision? _You_ had seniority," Halfdan leaned forward, his eyes narrowed.

Alistair swallowed. "I—thought that he would do better than me. He was a son of a great house, so he had been trained in…leadership, which I had not." That was almost a lie. _Fergus_ had been trained for leadership, Aedan not so much.

Scarlata chuckled. "It couldn't have anything to do with his handsome face and charming manners?"

Alistair blushed. "No! He's not…well, he _is_, but that's not it. I just thought he might do better than me. I didn't feel adequate to the task." He lowered his eyes.

"Who would?" Menashe asked softly.

The First clasped his hands together. "I think that's enough for today. You have given us much to consider. We will expect you back here in two days time to continue the story."


	10. The Council:  Gathering the Armies

Alistair spent the following day exploring Weisshaupt. His first impression had been that the fortress was self-sufficient and that Wardens would have little reason to leave, but on further inspection, that proved inaccurate. Basic foodstuffs and clothing were available, as well as armor and weapons, and there was ample open space for exercises and training. But while it might be true that a Warden would never _need_ to leave the fortress, it was clear there were many reasons why one might want to go down to Weishaupt Dorf at the foot of the cliffs, or out into the countryside beyond.

The first reason was that it did not take long for the _kastell _to feel confining. As large as the fortress was, it was crowded with the hundreds of wardens who lived there, and the various tradesmen, merchants and servants who worked for them. The sense of taint all around him was overwhelming, an unsettling reminder of the Deep Roads. Aedan would have hated it here. And there were few places where one could find solitude, other than the privacy of one's room.

Weisshaupt was also austere. With the singular exception of the Hall of Heroes, the plain exteriors of the buildings were mirrored by their unadorned interiors. Alistair had heard that the First was the _de facto_ ruler of Anderfels, but if he exploited that position for profit, it must all have been used for weapons and fortifications. The austerity was not only visual. The market and the tavern had no jugglers, players or musicians. When Alistair asked the bartender at _Der Grau Greifen_ about this, he had chuckled and said that the _kastell _was for fighting, and that for entertainment, there was the _dorf_.

It was to the _dorf, _he was told, that Wardens went for carousing, for wenching, for diversion. It sounded a bit like the camp followers that traveled with an army, except that it was a permanent encampment. He knew that back in Ferelden that many of the wardens went to a brothel in Amaranthine, but Ferelden's wardens numbered a few dozen, not hundreds.

Alistair decided that the nightly sport in the _dorf_ was not for him, but he might venture down again during the day, to see Somerled, or go out into the countryside. He knew that much of the area to the north was blighted, far more lifeless and barren than even the wastes he had passed through to reach Weisshaupt, but there must be more hospitable lands somewhere in the Anderfels. _Never satisfied are you? _He chuckled to himself. A few days earlier he had been tired of being alone, and now he already felt he needed to get away from the crowds. _Though one can still feel lonely in a crowd…_

The following day he returned to the council chamber to resume his narrative. It was not long before he was interrupted.

"Why did you go to Redcliffe first? I thought the idea was to use the treaties to gather the armies." The First studied Alistair.

"After we learned that Teyrn Loghain had barred the Wardens from Ferelden, we knew we would need to gain the support of the banns. We did not to want to have our armies fight those of Ferelden instead of the Darkspawn. I suggested that we could gain the help of Arl Eamon who was widely respected."

Scarlata scratched her head. "But I thought Commander Cousland's brother was the Teyrn of Highever. Why not go there?"

Alistair realized that he had not told them the circumstances of Aedan's recruitment. He summarized the events briefly. It struck him that while Aedan sometimes talked about his parents that he had never really described the night they died until that day at Sybille's palace. "With Howe taking Highever, and so many of his father's vassals lost at Ostagar, Aedan did not know who he could trust. There was a price on our heads."

"It still astonishes me that Loghain would ban the Wardens in the middle of a Blight, and that anyone would go along with such foolishness," commented the First.

Ricard turned to him. "Anshelm, you must remember that Ferelden has rarely been troubled by Darkspawn. And the Wardens have an unhappy history in Ferelden. They had taken arms against a king once were kept out of Ferelden until Maric's reign."

The First shook his head, but said no more and Alistair continued his tale.

He was soon stopped again, this time by Marschalc, the First's lieutenant. "So you stayed to defend the town, rather than seeking help elsewhere, even after hearing that Eamon was deathly ill, perhaps even dead?"

"We didn't know where else to go. And what better way to earn the help of the Guerin family than to defend the town. If Eamon's family were dead, Teagan would be Arl so…"

When he described their decision to go to the Circle Tower to seek help for Connor, he was interrupted once more.

"Wouldn't it have been less risky and more efficient to simply kill the boy?" asked Halfdan.

"Well…the Circle Tower is close to Redcliffe, and we had planned to go there next anyway, so Aedan went there with Leli and Conal, leaving me and Morrigan to keep the abomination under control.

"Conal?" The elf's brow furrowed.

"Aedan's hound," he explained.

"Fereldens and their dogs," observed Ricard, rolling his eyes.

"So you weren't with him when he restored the Circle? I must say it seemed a terrible risk to venture into a Circle that the Templars had retreated from in fear of their lives," commented the First.

"I think Aedan deemed it a terrible risk to try facing the Darkspawn with only one mage." Halfdan shrugged at that, while Aristomachus nodded his approval.

"But what would you have done had he not returned?"

Alistair took a deep breath. "I suppose I would have had to kill Connor, and Morrigan and I would have tried to continue on our own." He chuckled. "We probably would have forgotten the Archdemon and concentrated on murdering each other before long. It was…a great relief when he came back, and I knew I would not have to go on alone."

He had only started to tell of their actions in Orzammar when Scarlata halted him. "Zevran Arainai? Formerly of the Crows?"

"Yes…you know him?"

A slow smile spread across her face. "You might say that." _Oh, Maker, another of his conquests, _Alistair thought, as she continued. "I heard a rumor that placed him at Anora's coronation, in the company of Commander Cousland. But how did he come to be in your company? Aedan surely did not find him at the Circle Tower."

Realizing he had skipped another part of the story, Alistair backtracked to the ambush. Even with Aedan's recent retelling, it was difficult to keep everything in sequence, particularly with the council constantly prodding him for details.

"An interesting choice, to bring a man along who had been hired to kill him," observed the First.

"Yes. I was not in favor of it at the time myself. But Zevran proved himself a loyal and useful companion." Returning to the story of their time in Orzammar, he was just about to talk about their expedition to the Deep Roads, when he was forced to halt again.

"What made you choose to make Oghren a Grey Warden, rather than any of the other companions?" inquired Ricard.

Alistair blinked. "Oh, he became a Warden after the Blight was over. We had no way—we didn't know how to perform a joining, and we had no Archdemon blood, so…"

"Ah, I should have realized that. I was wondering why you made only one Warden."

He resumed his account and held their attention with his description of what they had encountered in the Deep Roads. The other Wardens seemed especially interested in the account of Hespith, though he knew that Aedan had already told them as much as they knew about the process that made Broodmothers. But when he came to the description how they destroyed the Anvil of the Void—

"You did WHAT?" Halfdan rose to his feet and clenched his fists. Spittle sprayed his beard.

"It was an evil thing. Its own maker begged us to destroy it."

"You have doomed _my people._"

"No. We saved them—some of them, at least-from becoming eternal slaves!"

Now the First spoke. "Sometimes such…sacrifices are necessary. As a Warden, you should understand that."

Alistair knew what he meant, but would not be swayed. The Joining was not the same. "Death is one thing. We all will die anyway, given time. But to be enslaved by anyone who holds a control rod forever—it's worse than becoming an abomination!"

Ricard spoke quietly to the others, then. "Ferelden culture places great emphasis on freedom. It was Andraste's birthplace."

Alistair glared at him, then addressed the dwarf. "And I don't believe it's necessary or that the dwarves are doomed. Golems aren't _that _tough. A good dwarven warrior like Oghren can easily best a golem. So could Jarvia and Branka, and they weren't even _warrior caste_! If the dwarves made full use of their manpower, they wouldn't need golems."

Halfdan flinched and lowered his eyes. Alistair had made his point. But the First persisted in questioning this decision.

"Be that as it may, the dwarves are not the Warden's concern. But wouldn't the golems have been a great asset against the Blight?"

Alistair shrugged. "Maybe. But if Branka had cared anything for the surface, she wouldn't have trapped the only two Wardens in Ferelden. Once she got what she wanted, who knows if she'd have kept her bargain? She was mad." He surveyed the faces before him and shook his head. Perhaps if they had been there and _seen_ what they had seen they would understand. Aedan had made that choice, but it was one Alistair would never second guess.

When he finished his account of Orzammar, the First asked, "So then you went to the Dalish?"

Alistair shook his head. "Eamon had still not recovered, so we went to search for Brother Genitivi, and the Sacred Ashes."

Anshelm tilted his head and frowned. "Did that not seem rather pointless? The Urn had been lost for centuries, if indeed it ever existed."

He sighed. "Isolde…would not give up hope. And as long as his wife persisted in believing, Eamon remained Arl, and Bann Teagan would not supplant him at the Landsmeet." He continued with his account of Haven and Genitivi, with few interruptions other than the First's remark that 'for once Aedan had chosen to eschew unnecessary risks' upon hearing they had not disturbed the dragon.

When he was done, Ricard spoke. "So you still maintain that the Urn was really there? Genitivi's story has been dismissed by most. No evidence was ever found."

"I know what I saw," Alistair growled. "I heard that the Temple had been destroyed, perhaps by the dragon, but that was years later." He moved on and described their actions in the Brecilian forest. After the tension that had accompanied the account of Orzammar, it was a relief that no one contested their choices there. Perhaps they were too tired, for the shadows had grown long by then.

"Let us adjourn for today. This has been…informative. Cousland left much detail out of his account of how the armies were gathered. I had thought that some of the stories that had been told about him—like that of finding the Sacred Ashes and curing Arl Eamon—were simply legends growing up spontaneously about a heroic figure. But it seems that there were more…complications in gathering the armies than the original report mentioned. We will require your presence to continue the account in two days time, Alistair."


	11. The Council:  Ending the Blight

Alistair gradually became aware that he was no longer anonymous in Weisshaupt. The first time he realized this was when he was having dinner at _Der Grau Greifen_. He noticed a pair of well-dressed men of the Anderfels at a nearby table watching him. They were not Wardens; he judged them to be nobles of some sort. Because the First had great influence in Anderfels politics—even more than its King, or so it was said—it was not uncommon for nobles to come to Weisshaupt currying favor. Alistair would have paid them little heed had he not overheard the older of the two griping, "He's the reason we've been waiting for days for an audience with the First. I don't know what he's here for but he's tied up the whole bloody Warden council…" When they saw Alistair looking back over at them, they stopped talking and looked away sheepishly.

It had not occurred to him to think of the disruption his visit must have caused to others. But on reflection, he realized that he had spent much of three days in the council chamber, and he understood that the council met and discussed what was said when he was not there. Surely, the First was a busy man, and much other business must be going by the wayside for him to receive so much attention. He hoped that they found it worthwhile. It seemed to him that, although they were receiving a more detailed account of the Fifth Blight than they had before, little of the new information was relevant to the matter at hand.

The only new piece of information that seemed to be of much consequence was that Aedan had never told them about Flemeth. He supposed that five years ago, Aedan must have sought to minimize Morrigan's role, to hide anything that might suggest she had a different purpose in joining them than the others. But it appeared he had not mentioned her connection to the legendary Witch of the Wilds, even in his recent letter to the First. He wondered why. He supposed it was possible he had simply forgotten that he had not told the Wardens of Flemeth before, but the fact that the knowledge—and the desire—to trap the Old God's soul had been hers to begin with seemed a significant omission.

Additonal evidence that his visit to Weisshaupt had made him a subject of local gossip came the following day. He had noticed some of the younger Wardens—not so much younger than him, in truth, but doubtless less experienced-watching him while he was doing his exercises in the courtyard before, and wondered if he had a different style of calisthenics. After all, he had been trained by the Templars in Ferelden; perhaps he was doing some exercise they had never seen and they were curious. But this time, they were talking amongst each other and heard his name whispered. Eventually, one of them, a young man named Dirske—goaded by his peers, no doubt—asked to spar with him with blunted training swords.

Dirske was no match for Alistair, of course. Even among Wardens, there were few who could really challenge him. He toyed with him, teased him with what appeared to be openings, only to block them at the last second with his shield. Alistair's opponents expected him to be strong, but were always caught off guard by his quickness. The young man's friends applauded his valiant, but hopeless effort to penetrate Alistair's defenses. Afterward, he chatted with the others briefly about what it had been like during the Blight in Ferelden.

Although other Wardens knew who he was, especially in Ferelden especially, but also in other posts he had visited elsewhere, he was not used to this sort of attention. He supposed it had to do with the fact that he had usually traveled with Aedan, whose celebrity so far outstripped his own. He yearned more for camaraderie more than deference, but the older Wardens in Weisshaupt who might have felt his equal had kept their distance, thus far. He supposed they suspected why he was here. He had hoped he would see more of Geizbart or Ricard—the only men he really knew in Weisshaupt—but the former had gone back on patrol and the latter stayed away.

Still, it had been good to do what he did best, and to be appreciated for it. Hearing Aedan recount the story of the blight for Leliana had filled him with pride and wonder at having been a part of it, but their accomplishments seemed to wither to dust when he recounted them for the Council. He understood their anger at how Aedan had cheated death, but was confounded by the criticism of his other choices.

The following morning, he returned to the Council hall and began by describing their actions in Denerim leading up to the Landsmeet. Since the council had seemed determined to examine every action they had undertaken, he provided every detail he could remember: the gangs they had dealt with for Sergeant Kylon, the mercenaries Aedan had persuaded to leave the Pearl, the trap set for Warden sympathizers, the demon in the orphanage. About all he left out was his disappointing encounter with his sister. By now, he expected interruptions and criticism, and was not surprised when Anshelm sighed and asked why Aedan had chosen to run so many trivial errands.

"Well, we were not pressed for time. We had to wait for all the Banns to arrive before the Landsmeet could begin. And we wanted to build up as much good will as possible for the Wardens, after all the lies Loghain had told."

"Did people really _believe_ the nonsense about the Wardens killing the King?" Marschalc asked.

"Most didn't. But there were some that did." He continued, ignoring Aristomachus' irritated muttering as he described how they dealt with the slavers in the Alienage. Scarlata seemed intrigued by the situation at Howe's estate, but Aedan had never been able to completely unravel Anora's schemes there, and Alistair couldn't be bothered to try. And as he expected, there was a lot of discussion of Aedan's choices at the Landsmeet.

"Sad to see a great man like Loghain go down like that," observed Ricard. "Pity you couldn't have invoked the Rite of Conscription, but I guess you didn't have Archdemon blood. If there had been more Wardens, I don't suppose Aedan would have been susceptible to this Morrigan."

Alistair bowed his head to hide his grimace and said nothing. Even now, he wasn't sure he could control his temper on the subject of Loghain. Old emotions coursed through his blood at the idea of fighting alongside him

Marschal cleared his throat.. "So after all the work this Arl Eamon went through to call the Landsmeet and position you as Cailan's heir, Aedan backed Loghain's daughter for the throne."

The First rubbed his chin. "There might have been some advantage to having a Warden on the throne. And was Aedan not worried that she would turn against him, especially after he killed her father?"

Ricard turned to Anshelm. "I think given the Sophia Dryden situation in its history, the nobles might have seen it as a power grab by the Wardens. And there really was no one else to put forward."

Alistair paused, taking care to formulate his response. "Anora recognized the need to fight the Blight. She wasn't too happy about her Father, obviously, but she must have known that might happen when she supported us. Aedan thought he might need her to sway the Landsmeet, but…" He hesitated. He knew what needed to be said, felt disloyal saying it. "Aedan afraid of losing…me, if I became King. And he knew I didn't want to be King. This way, we could stay together, as Wardens."

Halfdan's eyes bulged. "Are you saying that Aedan put his romantic interests above those of the country?"

"I—well, there were other concerns, but…"

The First shook his head. "What _were _you thinking, falling in love, under the circumstances?"

Scarlata gave a low chuckle. "I doubt thought had much to do with it. At least not the thoughts of the head on his shoulders."

Alistair could feel the color rising in his cheeks. Not for the first time, he cursed his fair skin. "There's no _rule_ against Wardens having relationships. And we didn't know…about how an Archdemon died…"

The First snorted. "There are few hard rules governing Wardens, as you well know. But it isn't encouraged and under the circumstances, it seems unwise, to say the least."

"Don't they have whorehouses in Ferelden?" asked Marschalc with an exasperated wave of his hand. "I realize a man has needs, but…"

_Whorehouses? _Alistair glared at the man in disgust. "It was not about…scratching an itch. I couldn't help it. Aedan had suffered so much and was trying so hard. It was—you weren't there—you don't know what it was like! We were alone against the Blight and Aedan was the only one who could understand, who was having the same dreams…"

"We all had those dreams," remarked Aristomachus. "Every Warden in Thedas."

Alistair struck the table in front of him. "But you weren't alone! And you were safe, the Archdemon wasn't _hunting_ you in the dream, sending the darkspawn to ambush you in the night."

"Are you really claiming the Archdemon found your encampment through your dreams?" asked Anshelm. "That can't be possible."

The elf closed his green eyes then opened them again, fixed his gaze on Alistair, then turned to the First. "I would not be so certain of that. He is not the first Warden to feel that the creature was seeking them. It _might_ be an illusion, but the feeling is mentioned in several accounts."

"Indeed? Adelheid, can you search the library for some of those accounts for me tomorrow? I'd like to review them." The woman behind Alistair nodded and scribbled down a note. He then sighed. "Well, whatever Cousland's motives, he placed Anora on the throne and she had more sense than her Father, fortunately. So then what?"

The exchange gave Alistair time to calm himself, though he could not completely shake the sense of loathing he felt for the smaller man with the moustache. To suggest that what he had shared with Aedan could have been obtained at a brothel….brushing his anger away, he summarized the preparations that were made and the march to Redcliffe to gather the armies.

"And it was there that this _ritual_ was performed?" inquired the Tevinter mage.

"So I'm told. I wasn't, you know, present for it. I can't really tell you how it was done."

The tall Antivan woman had other questions. "But you told us that Morrigan wanted you to kill her mother. Why did she still wish to carry out Flemeth's plan?"

He shook his head. "I can't explain what Morrigan wanted. I don't think Aedan knows, either . He thinks she's hoping the girl's power can protect her, help her stop whatever Flemeth's planning but that's just an idea. Maybe she doesn't know herself."

Aristomachus whistled through his teeth. "If we could only get hold of this Flemeth somehow…"

Alistair couldn't suppress a snicker. "Flemeth? Oh, right. She won't be found unless she can _use_ the Wardens for something."

Once they were satisfied he had told them everything he could about Morrigan, Flemeth, and the ritual, he described their march to Denerim. There were few interruptions until he described Riordan's death. "I suppose after he fell, you must have been relieved that Aedan had made his damned child, so neither of you would have to sacrifice himself." It was the loathsome little man on the First's right again.

Alistair shook his head. "I didn't know. When Riordan failed…I expected to die that night. I was ready."

The First narrowed his blue eyes. "You really claim he didn't tell you? But surely you must have talked about how you would finish the demon?"

"No. He said nothing. And I thought…well, I was the older one, and had been a Warden longer. I just assumed it would be me. I thought he just found it too painful to ask me to…die."

"But when the time came, it was Aedan, not you who slew the beast."

"Yes." He described the battle of Denerim, and how they had fought there way to the top of Fort Drakon. "When it collapsed, pierced by dozens of arrows, and we could see it was dying, I turned to Aedan. I wanted to…say goodbye, tell him I loved him…but he was already off and running and I could not get there in time. When the thing died and the light flashed, I fell to my knees and wept. Ask anyone who was there on the roof that night. I thought Aedan was gone. I had no idea."

"But weren't there still Darkspawn to fight?" asked the dwarf.

He shrugged. "Yes. But they were disoriented and confused. And I didn't care much, just then. And then, I felt Aedan's hand on my shoulder and I looked up and—it was like a miracle had happened."

Halfdan continued, "But I still don't understand. If he was so afraid to die, why didn't he just let you do it? Was he so determined to play the hero and live to be feted for it?"

This view of Aedan struck Alistair as so wrongheaded that he almost laughed. Aedan found little joy in being the Hero of Ferelden. "No. I think he just killed it himself because if Morrigan's plan didn't work, he didn't want to live without me."

"Ugh…by the stone!"

"So this too was for love," Marschalc's voice dripped with contempt. "And are we supposed to believe that your life is worth the risk of bringing an Old God back into the world?" Marschalc glared at Alistair.

"I know I'm not worth it. You don't have to tell me that." He bowed his head. "But Aedan…" _Even if I've damned Thedas to destruction, it was worth it for these precious years with you_, Aedan had said. "I was all he had left."

"But didn't you wonder how he could be alive?" asked the First.

"I—I guess I didn't want to ask too many questions. He told me Morrigan had saved him and…I was just so happy to see him." It was strange that something that had delighted him should now fill him with sorrow and shame.

Anshelm sighed. "I've often thought we needed to do more to discourage relationships between Wardens. This proves that it's necessary."

Scarlata looked at the First and wrinkled her nose. "Even if you declared a formal policy, enforcing it would be…distasteful, don't you think?"

The elf remarked, "Though it may have been…problematic in this case, do you think it's wise to place further burdens on Wardens? These were highly unusual circumstances."

"Well…I suppose any change in policy is business for a separate council, not the issue at hand. I think we've heard enough for today. We'll return in two days time to hear your account of your recent activities in Orlais, Alistair."

.


	12. Der Grau Greifen: A Sympathetic Ear

With a heavy heart, Alistair left his room and crossed the main plaza toward _Der Grau Greifen_. He needed a drink. He knew he should probably have something to eat as well, but he had no appetite. He had expected the Council's reaction to Aedan's decision, but the derision that had been poured upon him for their relationship had caught him by surprise. They had never hidden their love, and it had not occurred to him that other Wardens might disapprove.

Lost in thought and with his eyes staring at the ground in front of him, he collided with a slight woman crossing his path, nearly knocking her off her feet. Hastening to apologize for not looking where he was going, he met the wide-set amber eyes of Adelheid, the archivist.

"Alistair, it is nothing. I can well understand you being…preoccupied after today's council. Are you going to the tavern?" He nodded. "You look like you could use a drink, and perhaps some company. If you would like to talk, I could meet you there in a little while…?"

He hesitated, unsure whether his mood was too sour for company but he knew so few people in Weisshaupt. It would be good to have someone to talk to. "I'd like that."

He went into the tavern and was greeted by the bartender, who brought a flagon of ale to his table, along with two tankards. It was not long before Adelheid arrived, smiling as she sat down. "It's refreshing to see you without all that plate mail on," she commented. "I couldn't help wondering why you come to the council each day dressed for battle."

He laughed and undid the buttons on his tunic, revealing the chain mail shirt underneath. "I'm still not completely unprotected. I know it's odd, but I feel more comfortable in armor; it's unsettling to be without it."

"Especially when facing hostility…I thought they were very hard on you, today. And unfair."

He shook his head. "It was very hard. But they're right. None of this would have happened if we hadn't fallen in love." He took a long swallow of ale, closed his eyes and sighed, then opened them again. "Aedan even said as much. It was…a mistake."

She frowned. "I think that the Council has forgotten what it is to be young. I am as old as they but I…have not forgotten. And you can't control how other people feel about you."

"But I could have discouraged him."

She shrugged. "Perhaps. But maybe without your love…Alistair, do you know the story of the Sacred Band of Carastes?"

He scratched his head. "It sounds like something I should have learned in the Chantry, but no."

"This was long before the Chantry, even before the Imperium, when Tevinter was a land occupied by many warring city states. Carastes was, for a time, the preeminent power among them, and the sacred band were the elite forces that protected the Magister who ruled the city. He had decreed that the sacred band would be made up of 150 pairs of lovers who would fight side by side All men, because in those days women did not fight in Tevinter, well, unless they were mages. For forty years they were the most feared elite troops in the land."

"What happened to them?"

"Eventually, the city was surrounded by Minrathous, and they were greatly outnumbered and overwhelmed. But the Sacred Band fought to the last man in an effort to protect the city. I am told there is still a monument to them in Carastes with three hundred names engraved on it."

His brow furrowed. "I'm not sure I understand,"

"The point is that love can be a strength, as well as a weakness."

"But if they all died…?"

"But they fought to the end, because they loved. It's hard to fight for Thedas, or for a country—it's too big to get your head around. People fight for what they know, for their homes, for their families, their friends, their loved ones. Aedan took Morrigan's bargain because of your love, but maybe if he hadn't loved, he would have failed long before. You faced death many times that year. When you were locked in the most desperate battles to survive, was it thoughts of Ferelden or the Grey Wardens that gave you the strength to hold on, or did you fight for Aedan and your other companions?"

"You may be right." He lapsed into silence for a while, pondering whether this might be true. The bartender brought bowls of stew and bread to their table. After a time, he said, "But it hurt to be criticized by the head of my Order. When I was recruited, I was so happy that I could _do_ something. I wanted to be the best Warden I could be…"

"We are men and women before we are Wardens, Alistair."

"I was nobody before I was a Warden. Nobody except evidence of a King's indiscretion, something to be hidden away." He wondered why he was telling this strange woman so much. Was it because he was draining the flagon of ale so quickly, or just his need to talk to _someone_? "I never thought there could be a conflict between being a good Warden and loving Aedan, following Aedan."

She narrowed her eyes, studying him as she sipped from her tankard. "You couldn't have been nobody or you wouldn't have been chosen. You were special."

"I didn't feel special. I was amazed when I was chosen. I mean, I knew I could fight, but…well, maybe that's all it was. Skill."

"You don't really think that you got through the Blight on fighting ability alone."

"I don't?" He smiled. "Morrigan kept telling me I wasn't very bright."

She snorted. "Skill only gets you so far…courage, determination…even those combined with skill wouldn't be enough. And was not seeking the Arl's help your idea? As critical as some of the members of the Council have been, can you not see them measuring themselves against you, wondering if they could have done what you did?"

"Do you think so? It seems like all the First sees is how Wardens shouldn't fall in love with each other." He took another long swig of ale.

She sighed. "The First is…well, I doubt anything will come of his idea. And even if he set such a policy, I doubt it would be enforced beyond Weisshaupt. Each Warden commander has a great deal of autonomy. How do you think Aedan would respond if he received such a directive?"

He laughed. "But surely not all Commanders are like Aedan. He's never…well…"

"You might be surprised. The men who rise to command in the Wardens tend not to like being told what to do. Besides, if they start limiting the love lives of Wardens, where will it end? The aristocracy in the Anderfels would be most displeased if they could no longer marry into the Wardens."

He blinked. "Really? Wardens _marry_ here? But they can't have children…or at least it's rare."

"True…but not every noble family can get a child recruited, and the families are lured to power as moths to a flame. Because the Wardens have clout here, there are…political marriages. Just as daughters are packed off to the Chantry in the hopes they will become Revered Mothers or even Grand Clerics."

He had never thought about how the political influence of the Wardens in the Anderfels might affect the lives of Wardens. They talked a little more about that as they finished their stew and nearly emptied the flagon of ale.

When she rose to her feet—a little unsteadily—he took her hand and thanked her for listening to him. "I don't know many people here and—you were right—I needed to talk to someone…"

She smiled. "It was truly an honor, Alistair. If you feel a need to talk again, I usually close up the library around sundown if you want to drop by." She touched his hand and walked away.


	13. The Council:  Morrigan's Daughter

The first leaned back and folded his arms against his chest. "Before we hear Alistair's account of what happened recently in Orlais, I would like to review how he came to be summoned here, as I realize not all of you were in Weisshaupt when the decision was made.

Last summer, Commander de Chambrais reported that many of the Wardens in Orlais had begun having odd dreams, dreams that reminded them of the dreams they had had during the Blight, and which featured a little girl prominently. Because he distrusted Commander Cousland's account of Urthemiel's passing—with good reason, as we now know—he speculated that there might be a connection between the girl in the dreams and the Blight. At his request, we summoned Alistair here. De Chambrais thought that we might have a better chance of getting the truth from Alistair than from Commander Cousland.

Subsequently, we received a rather confusing series of messages from Ferelden and Orlais. First came a letter from Amaranthine stating that Alistair had left Amaranthine and was on his way. Then came a message from Coteaux du Roches that both he and Cousland were in Orlais and were planning to come together. Then we received a note from Commander Cousland that included new information about the Fifth Blight and a rather unlikely account of his activities in Orlais, and said that he was _not_ coming, but that Alistair had left Val Royeaux. Finally, Yves sent us a letter indicating that the dreams had stopped, and that the Ferelden Commander had enjoined one of his Wardens to secretly investigate the dreams."

An _unlikely_ account? Alistair wondered if Aedan were still trying to hide the truth, or whether the First deemed the truth improbable.

Anshelm continued, "So we would like you to begin by explaining why Cousland was in Orlais at all."

Alistair told them that he had set out from Ferelden alone, while Aedan was away on a recruiting drive. Aedan had come after him because he did not want Alistair heading to Weisshaupt without knowing…what had really happened. He did not describe the somewhat embarrassing details of his capture and rescue. If Yves had not bothered to mention it, he wouldn't either.

"So you _still_ didn't know how he had cheated death? What did you plan to tell us?" Scarlata raised an eyebrow.

Alistair shrugged. "I…would have told you that Morrigan had done…something…to save him, I guess."

Aristomachus had a different question. "So Aedan didn't come to Orlais to look for Morrigan originally?"

"No. We didn't even know Morrigan was in Orlais until a chance remark by a friend of ours in Val Royeaux. She vanished after we killed the Archedemon. I think," he sighed, "that Aedan was hoping that nothing would come of the child. In retrospect, we both had some…odd dreams that year…but nothing like we experienced in Orlais.

Other than Ricard, no one on the council had dreamed of Aife, so Alistair spent some time describing how the dreams had felt, both his own, Aedan's, and those accounts gathered by Enrique.

"So Aedan realized immediately that he was dreaming of his daughter?"

"Not at first, but after Yves mentioned that Wardens were having odd dreams, and he had a second one, he realized that it must be his daughter. Once you know, the resemblance is obvious."

"Why did he not tell Commander de Chambrais that right away?"

Alistair snorted. "Because he can't _stand_ him. The last thing Aedan wanted to do was admit that Yves had been right all along. And he said that he was sure Yves would want to kill her, and feared it would result in a bloodbath."

The First nodded. "Killing her does seem like a logical solution. Why did Aedan oppose it?"

"I'd have thought he'd be happy to have someone _else_ die in his stead to remove his mistake," said Marschalc. "Assuming a Warden would die killing her, of course." He glanced over at Menashe, who shrugged.

Alistair shook his head. "No, that's not. I mean, Aedan didn't _want_ to die but he just didn't want to kill a child, his child, without knowing…what she was. He did say that if she were tainted, or some sort of monster, that he would kill her himself."

Halfdan pulled at his beard. "So you did discuss it? And you…agreed with his decision?"

"I told him I would do it, but he said…he said no, that he needed me to fend off Morrigan's magic. And when it looked like it was going to be hard to find Morrigan, I thought we should just come here and let other Wardens know, not make this decision alone. But Aedan wouldn't do that, so…"

"And you just do whatever Commander Cousland tells you," observed Marschalc.

"Yes, I do," he admitted, taking a deep breath and lowering his eyes. _I did._ "I trusted his judgment—after everything we'd been through, everything he'd done…"

Ricard commented, "In Alistair's defense, it must be noted that Aedan Cousland is a _very_ persuasive man. If you haven't met him—and I don't think any of the rest of you have—" he glanced around the room for confirmation that he was correct, "it's easy to underestimate what he is."

Alistair told them how they had gone to find Morrigan, omitting the details of how Aedan had bargained for her whereabouts. As expected, he fielded many questions about the girl.

"You say that you sensed the girl, but you're sure she's _not_ tainted. I don't quite know how you would sense her? What did you feel, exactly?" asked Anshelm.

"Not the taint, something else, like an awareness of a glow or a warmth. It's hard to describe…it's not like a Warden or a Darkspawn. I guess it was a little like the Archdemon but—well, I guess none of you know what it's like near the Archdemon—but that was darker. It was…I don't know how to describe it…soothing…to be near her?"

The elf tilted hi shead back in thought, then said, "It makes sense that the Joining attunes us to the old God, in some sense. That must be why we were drawn into her dreams, and she into ours."

"But can we know that she won't become tainted? What if the Darkspawn find her?" asked Halfdan.

"Morrigan _says_ she won't, that it can't happen." He sighed. "_She_ says that the Chantry has what happened to make the Darkspawn all wrong."

"And did she enlighten you as to the correct story?" inquired Scarlata.

He snorted. "Morrigan? Yeah, right. I did ask her if she was so sure, why she wouldn't come to Weisshaupt with us and explain why the girl couldn't be tainted. I knew she wouldn't." He sighed.

Aristomachus pointed out that the old Gods were said to speak to people in their dreams and compel their obedience. "Did you ever feel the girl was influencing you during the dream?"

Alistair shook her head. "Not in the dreams, but…in person, in a way. I guess. She made me feel—relaxed. Happy. When we shared a meal with Ellaire and Aife, it was like a family dinner, even though we didn't know them."

Anshelm turned to the Tevinter mage. "Do you think she can control us?"

Aristomachus' gaze flickered to Alistair than back to the first. "Not yet by the sound of it, at least not consciously. In time?" he shrugged. "I suppose Avernus is too fragile to travel. It would be helpful to have his opinion on this as he knows more about the taint than anyone else. Perhaps one of us should go to Ferelden and seek his counsel."

The First nodded, then indicated for Alistair continue his tale.

_Avernus_, Alistair thought to himself_. I always wondered why Aedan let him live, after everything he had done, even with the promise that he wouldn't subject people to his experiments any more. I suppose he hoped for a cure for the progression of the taint._

When he finished his description of how Morrigan and Aife had left Thedas through a mirror, Marschalc spoke up, "Do you really expect us to believe that she went to another world through a magic mirror? I read that in Aedan's letter and thought—he's still working with this woman, covering for her. This 'beyond the fade' business is way too convenient."

Alistair glared at him. "Do you think I'm _lying _to you?"

"Well, how do you know she's left Thedas?"

"I—well, I guess I don't _really_ know where she went, but the dreams stopped in Orlais. Have they started up anywhere else?"

"Maybe she told the girl to stop doing it."

"Marschalc, no, I think Alistair is telling the truth." Menashe held up his hand. "Please, Alistair, can you describe this mirror? Tell me everything you remember."

He did his best to recall the type of wood in the frame, the runes carved into it. As he did so, he could see Menashe and Aristomachus nodding to each other.

The elf turned to the First. "It's an Eluvian. It _has _to be."

Anshelm rubbed his forehead. "I thought they were for communication, not travel."

Aristomachus explained, "That's what the Tevinter magisters used them for. But it was said that in Arlathan, the elves could travel from one city to another. I'd never have imagined they could go to other worlds, but," he lifted a hand in a gesture of uncertainty.

"Yet that only deepens the mystery," observed Menashe. "How could Morrigan possibly know how to use an Eluvian with more expertise than the great Magisters of old could manage after decades of study?"

"I suppose Flemeth must have explained their usage, or it was in that book of hers," suggested Alistair.

The elf shook his head. "That's not good enough. You said Flemeth was—what—a few hundred years old? That knowledge was lost many centuries before. Unless the legend isn't the true beginning of Flemeth," he frowned.

The First turned to him. "Perhaps you should go to Ferelden and see if you can learn anything more about this Flemeth from the Circle Library, or maybe from your people. You could inform Avernus of what's going on, and see if he has any insights, as well."

Menashe nodded.

The dwarf said to Alistair, "I don't understand how you could just let them get away. Knowing the danger she could represent."

Alistair winced. "I—I know, but," he sighed. "She's a little girl. And—I really don't think I could have raised a hand against her. The feeling when she's near…it's hard to describe!"

"She's a _weapon_ not a little girl. And a weapon in the hands of a woman you don't trust."

Scarlata raised an eyebrow, "A weapon she may be, but the mother must be quite sure she won't be tainted, since it's hard to see how she would benefit from a blight. And if there is no blight, is this really our problem? If Morrigan wants to use the girl to make herself," she gave a casual wave of her hand, "Queen of Nevarra, is that the Warden's affair?"

A grim nod from the First. "Yes. If the Chantry figures out what she _is_, they will expect us to deal with it. And be furious that it was allowed to happen.

Menashe raised an eyebrow, "Since when do we take orders from the Chantry?"

"They know they need us, but—except here in the Anderfels—the Wardens are far too few to resist the Templar armies. If the Divine wanted the Orlesian Wardens under his thumb, de Chambrais would have little choice but to submit. No, we must deal with this."

"Alistair, your group had some experience with Litany of Adralla at the Circle Tower. Do you think it would work against her?" asked Aristomachus.

"I don't know. Ellaire said that what Aife does was not like blood magic, but we didn't try it, so I…don't know."

"Well," observed the First. "I don't suppose it matters for any of _us_, since if this Morrigan is to be believed, she will be gone for many years. All we can do is try to guess what she is, what she can do, what her mother's intentions might be, and prepare the next generation to deal with the threat as best they can.." He fixed Alistair with a cold blue stare. "You and your Aedan have placed her beyond our grasp."

"It may not be so," breathed Aristomachus. Everyone stared at him.

Menashe looked perplexed. "Even if we were to find another Eluvian, and somehow learn to use it, we wouldn't know where to look for her."

"It may not be so. Blood calls to blood. There might be a way to reach her through the Fade, through the father."

The elf's green eyes widened. "I…had not thought of that. Do you really think it would work?"

"I don't know. I think I've read of something similar, but not to find someone in another world. Adelheid, I will be visiting the Archives tomorrow. We need to look for some very old Tevinter codices."

"It sounds as if this is worth investigating, Aristomachus. I have just one last question for Alistair before we adjourn. Why did Commander Cousland change his mind about coming here?"

"He felt that since he was—finally—giving you the truth about what happened, that the letter would be enough. He wanted to go home, and I think he feared…judgment. But I had said I would come, and I keep my word." He was not lying, he told himself. Aedan had not wanted to go to Weisshaupt. _But he would have, to stay with me, if I had let him._ But the First didn't need to know that. Some things were private.

I think Alistair is finished his story and we may go for today. I would like to see you for further instructions in my office in two days time after mid-day meal, Alistair. The rest of us will meet again tomorrow, but I think out path is clear from here."


	14. The First's Office:  An Extended Stay

"You may come in now," said the First. Alistair opened the door to his office. As he entered, Anshelm gestured for him to sit down in a chair, on the opposite side of a large, plain oak desk. Through an open window behind the First, he could see a courtyard, with young Wardens practicing their combat skills.

Alistair was surprised to find that Aristomachus was also in the office, standing by the bookcase beside the First's desk. He nodded in greeting.

"I must thank you again for coming and for your candor, Alistair," began the First. "I know that this has been—difficult—for you, but it was essential that we learn as much as possible about what transpired during the Fifth Blight. While your story corroborated Commander Cousland's letter, you provided us with many important details that he left out, whether by design or by accident."

"I…felt it was my duty to the Order to fully inform you." He frowned. ""We should have done this…a long time ago."

The first held up his hand and sighed. "I agree but there is no point in recriminations now. What matters is how we move forward. When you first arrived, you agreed that if there was still something that could be done to prevent Urthemiel from blighting Thedas again, you would assist us."

"Yes…" he replied, wondering what the First had in mind. He glanced over at the Aristomachus.

"You may recall that Aristomachus had an idea that there might be a way to reach the girl. Alas, he was unable to find what he needed in our library and must go to Minrathous to complete his research and test its application. We ask that you remain in Weisshaupt until he returns."

"I see. Does that mean it will be my task to…kill Aife?" He closed his eyes, thinking of the child, her dark eyes and Aedan's smile. To kill Aedan's daughter…he could understand why it might be necessary, but could he do it?

"No. To bring a non-mage into the fade in a conscious state is far too difficult." He looked to the Tevinter mage, who nodded in confirmation.

"So…you hope to reach Aife through the Fade? What can you do in the fade?"

Aristomachus spoke up. "Killing an ordinary mage in his own fade dream can sever their connection to the fade, depriving them of power and rendering them tranquil. Though we don't know the nature of an old god, we hope that it might neutralize her power. Even if that fails, it may be possible to use the fade to ascertain into what realm she has been taken…though we would still need to find a way to enter it."

Anshelm turned his head toward the mage. "Could we not find another Eluvian?"

"Perhaps, but even the great Magisters of old never fully unlocked their secrets. Unless…Alistair, that girl that was living with Morrigan—might Morrigan have taught her the Eluvian's use?"

"I doubt it. Knowing Morrigan, she wouldn't have taught Ellaire anything unless it was useful to her. Unless she'd need to be able to enter it to know how to destroy it."

"Unlikely."

"Still," observed the First, "it might be worth having Ricard find the girl and question her. She might no something more that would help. You said you left her with a mage in Val Royeaux?"

"Yes, a man named Odouart." He hoped that he was not bringing Ellaire trouble. "I hope you won't be…hard on her, she's just a girl. And I think she told us everything she could about Aife. But if I'm not to go into the Fade, why do you need me to stay here?" It was not that he was anxious to return to Ferelden, but he saw nothing for him to do in Weisshaupt. He had hoped to be inspired by the Grey Warden's chief fortress, but he felt as lost and alone here as he had when he left Val Royeaux.

"We will need Cousland's cooperation for this plan, and so…we will need you to persuade him. He does not trust us."

"I see." He wondered if he were a hostage. He glanced to Aristomachus, "In the council you said 'blood calls to blood'. Is this like the phylactery magic that is used to find escaped Circle Mages?"

"Somewhat."

"How long will you be away?"

"Weeks. Possibly several months."

"Months? What will I do here for months?" He turned back to Anshelm.

"Oh, I'm sure we can find something for a Warden of your skills. I'll not risk you on patrols, but I'm sure Marschalc can find a use for you in training the men. Most of our instructors have never fought an Ogre or an Emissary, let alone the more powerful and exotic types that you faced in Ferelden. The Maker willing, they never will, but it's best to know what to expect."

"Very well." He enjoyed teaching combat skills, though he was not looking forward to working under Marschalc.

"Good. You may go now. Oh, and you received another letter from Ferelden." He opened a drawer, pulled out a sealed letter, and passed it across the deak."

Alistair thanked him for the letter and left his office. He pondered going back to his room to open the letter, and decided it could wait. Instead, he went to look for the Weisshaupt Library and Adelheid.


	15. Der Grau Greifen:  A Quiet Dinner

DER GRAU GREIFEN: A QUIET DINNER

Most of the library's collection was stored in a tower adjoining the original part of the keep. No doubt it had originally been a watchtower, but it now faced an interior courtyard, negating its use for defensive purposes. A wooden spiral staircase ascended to the top of the tower, and the walls on every floor were lined by shelves packed with books. Alistair could see that there were at least six floors above him. Adelheid sat at a large desk in the center of the ground floor. She smiled in greeting as he emerged from the adjacent scriptorium into the tower.

"Hello, Alistair. It's a pleasure to see you."

"Hello. It's nice to see you as well." He lowered his voice so as not to disturb those working in the scriptorium. "I was wondering if you'd like to have dinner again. You said…if I wanted to talk…of course, if you're busy…"

"My social calendar is not so full as you might imagine." She smoothed the fur of the black cat seated in her lap. "I would be happy to have dinner with you tonight. I suppose you'll be going back to Ferelden soon, so there may not be another opportunity."

He shook his head. "No, the First has asked me to stay until Aristomachus returns from Minrathous."

"Ah," her head tilted back. "Yes, he was pestering me all day and half the night yesterday. Poking into the darkest corners of the library in search of works I knew he wouldn't find."

"How could you be sure? Have you read _all_ of these?" His eyes tracked upward, floor upon floor crammed with books. It was the largest collection he had ever seen, even surpassing the Circle library in Ferelden.

She laughed. The motion stirred the cat and it gave a questioning "Mrrow?", turning its golden gaze on Alistair. She scratched under its chin. "No, that would be the work of several lifetimes. But I have opened most of them to confirm that the contents are correctly listed in my files. And he was looking for manuscripts from the old Imperium. We have few works that predate the foundation of the Wardens." She glanced at his hand. "What are you carrying?"

"It's a letter from Aedan."

Her eyebrows arched slightly. He supposed she was surprised that he had not opened it, but she said nothing. "I should stay here until everyone has finished their work, in case they need assistance, but I will be happy to meet you at Der Grau Greifen shortly after sundown."

She was already waiting for him when he entered the inn's common room that evening. She had let her dark hair down and changed into a saffron robe, not a color that would be flattering on most, but which accentuated her unusual eyes. After they settled into their table and the innkeeper had brought a flagon of ale, she studied him for a moment before commenting, "Being a Warden means a lot to you."

"Yes. Is that so surprising?"

She tilted her head back and forth. "I suppose I _should_ understand better than most."

"Why?"

"Well, as you know, a lot of Wardens don't join up by choice, even here, where it _is_ an honor. With so many Wardens in Weisshaupt, our short lives and the fact that many fail to survive the Joining can hardly be hidden. Yet some who would never have chosen this life are pushed into it by families seeking prestige. I joined freely. It was a way out of a life I did not want, just as it seems to have been for you."

"You were…in a Circle?" He had assumed she was a mage from the start. She appeared too delicate to fight darkspawn without magic.

She nodded. "At the time a chance of a short free life, an exciting life, seemed better than being locked up forever. A romantic position, perhaps, but an easy one to take at nineteen." She smiled. "And with all my dreams of adventure, I wound up in the Weisshaupt library. But I proved better at organization than at fighting Darkspawn so…" she shrugged, "here I am."

"Would you rather have stayed in the Circle?"

"No, but I lost more than I realized in leaving." She took a long sip of her ale. "All my friends, the only home I knew. And being able to see my family proved a mixed blessing." She frowned and looked away.

"They didn't want you back? Because you're a mage. I know people can be afraid…"

"That wasn't it. They were delighted to have a Warden in the family. But they were strangers to me…I was taken away by the Templars when I was a child. And. I felt—used—sorry, I shouldn't have brought this up. I don't want to talk about them." She finished her cup of ale, poured another from the flagon.

Alistair watched her in silence, thinking that he would have done anything to have had a family to return to. But he should know that family was not always a blessing, after his meeting with Goldanna. And Cailan for that matter And now…Aedan had made him part of his family and he had left. The Wardens were all he had. He sighed and poured himself another cup of ale while the innkeeper came to the table with a loaf of bread, bowls of bean soup and legs of mutton.

As he began to eat he asked, "It doesn't bother you that I'm a Templar? You knew that, right? I mean, that I was trained as one and have their abilities. Obviously I'm not a Templar now. I never took vows, but still—"

"No, it doesn't bother me. You're hardly the only Warden with Templar training, you know."

"But a lot of mages…well, you weren't happy in the Circle. You didn't resent the Templars?"

"Oh, I did. Very much. Perhaps even more than they deserved. But," she shrugged, "that was a long time ago and they hold no power over me." Her eyes left his face and she turned to look at something behind him.

He turned around and saw Scarlata and Menashe approaching their table. "Ah, you're here," said the Antivan woman. "Good. I'm glad I will have a chance to see you before I leave."

"You're going back to Antiva?"

"Yes. But it was good to meet you, to see the man…one of the men…behind the story. I know that it cannot have been pleasant for you. All of us bitter old Wardens picking away at your every triumph." Her mouth twisted slightly.

Menashe spoke then, smoothing his hair behind his pointed ears. "Unpleasant, but necessary. Not all of us felt the need for immediate action, though. We might have waited, learned more, but…the majority of the Council prevailed." His lips tightened. "I cannot imagine that Aristomachus will succeed, but the First grasped at the slightest chance."

"I've known Anshelm a long time," said Scarlata. "I think it burns him still that he was unable to do anything during the Blight, that Ferelden's fate was out of his hands. And he feels the Calling coming upon him, and does not want to leave a mess for his successor to clean up."

Menashe nodded to her, then turned to Alistair. "I will be leaving for Ferelden tomorrow and will likely stop in Amaranthine. Is there any message you would like to pass on to Commander Cousland?"

Alistair supposed that Menashe would tell Aedan of the Council, and he didn't know what he wanted to say, beyond that. Or rather there were too many things to say, contradictory things, conflicting things…he shook his head.

"No? I suppose he knows everything that can be said." He smiled. "Well, may Mythal protect you on your path, brother Alistair."

When Scarlata and Menashe had left the table, he found Adelheid staring at him. She opened her mouth, then closed it. After a pause, she said, "Alistair, I know that I have not known you for very long, so I understand if you don't want to explain but…I have to ask: What happened in Val Royeaux?"

"What do you mean? You were there when I told the First and the others…"

She shook her head. "Something else happened that you didn't talk about. Something between you and Aedan. I noticed the way you hesitated when the First asked why Aedan had not come with you, the way you said you 'trusted' his judgment. The past tense. And now you're in no hurry to read his letters and have no message you want to send. If you don't want to tell me, that's fine, but don't expect me to believe that nothing has changed between you."

"Was it really so obvious?" He glanced toward Menashe and Scarlata. "They didn't ask for more."

A dismissive wave of the hand. "Not to them, I suppose. Anshelm and the rest weren't thinking about _you_. But even though I have only seen Aedan through your words, I felt sure that he would not have wanted you to face the Council alone."

He hesitated. "I learned a few things that…bothered me. But the main thing is what Aedan did to find Morrigan." He told her of Leliana and Sybille, their secret meetings with Enrique, and how Aedan had betrayed Leliana's friends at _Le Cheval Blanc_. "I just couldn't believe that he would break his word to one of our dearest friends. And even after he did it," he shook his head, "we could have saved them. We could have gone to the inn and warned them, at least. But Aedan didn't tell me what he had done. And he lied to me! That morning when he asked after Leliana and Sybille, it seemed like he was worried about something but he said it was nothing. He told me he had 'persuaded' Celene to tell him where Morrigan was, not bartered away our friend's secrets."

"Did you really think the Empress would give away information for nothing? That is…not her reputation."

"Aedan's very persuasive. And I never thought he would lie to me. I mean, I knew that he lied sometimes but I always thought it was…to accomplish something _good_. And now I don't know what to think. Decisions I thought he made with the good of Ferelden in mind seem like they were for selfish reasons. And," he winced, "Marschalc was right. I always just did what he told me. I thought I could trust him and now…I just don't know what to think of him. I'm not sure who he is anymore."

"I see. I'm sorry," They sat in silence for a while and ate. "I guess I understand why you're not in any great hurry to go home, then. Thank you for telling me. I know that it can't have been easy."

"I think I needed to tell someone. I feel so…lost." He rubbed at his forehead. "Now I guess…well, that's why being a Warden is so important. It's all I have left."

She watched him for a while, then said. "Alistair, it's never all we are. To be only a Grey Warden would be a cold thing indeed, and you're not a cold man."


	16. Weisshaupt:  The Second Letter

WEISSHAUPT: THE SECOND LETTER

After leaving Der Grau Greifen and returning to his room, Alistair lit a candle, broke the seal on the letter and sat down at the desk to read:

_Alistair,_

_My dearest love,_

_I know that there has been no time for you to respond to my previous letter. Perhaps both my letters arrived in Weisshaupt before you. But I felt the need to write again. It makes me feel a little closer to you to know that you will be reading my words._

_I am back at Vigil's Keep now. Voldrik has finally pronounced all of the repairs finished. I think he's as much a perfectionist in his own way as Wade. I know that the damage from the siege was great, but I never thought it would take five years to repair. But it has at last been pronounced done, and all of the Wardens have returned there. I suspect some would have preferred to stay closer to Amaranthine for its entertainments, but we do have much more spacious quarters here, and are better protected, of course._

_I spent some time in Highever before returning. I couldn't face telling Fergus that you had left me. I suppose I've already failed in my intention to be more honorable. Not only have I not told Meghann and Nathaniel about your departure, I outright lied to Fergus, saying that I went to Orlais to brief you on what you needed to know for Weisshaupt. I guess I'm still in denial, and have almost convinced myself that it isn't a lie. When I think on what we have had, what we have shared, I can't quite believe that you would cast it aside. I remember that when I called after you, you gave no answer when I asked if you would come back, so I pray that you may still return. Perhaps I have simply added myself to the list of people I've deceived, but I don't know how else to avoid despair. I nearly wept when little Bryce—he's grown so—asked after Al'ster._

_I miss you so much. I am having such a hard time concentrating on the business at hand at Vigil's Keep that I've left much of the responsibility to running the keep to Nathaniel. He and Meghann must suspect something is wrong, but I'm not really close to anyone else here._

_I wait and hope for your safe return to Ferelden. Please give me another chance._

_With all my love, forever yours_

_Aedan _

Alistair sighed. It would be so easy to give in, to say yes, to forgive, to go home. There was a part of him that longed to hold him and comfort him, to say he still loved him, as Aedan had done for him countless times. He had no wish to cause Aedan pain. But forgiveness was not _enough_. He needed to know that he could trust him again, as he once had, that Aedan would not deceive him, that they would truly face the challenges that came together. When Aedan had spoken those words, he thought maybe he would at last be Aedan's partner, not his follower. _What do you want to hear? That I prefer to follow? I do,_ he had said to Morrigan once. It _was_ easier to follow, but if you could not trust your leader…

And he didn't know how to trust again, and he couldn't trust _himself_ to recognize Aedan's falsehood. Perhaps he should have been suspicious, wondered what he have given the Empress in return for knowledge, just as he should have wondered how Morrigan had saved him, but he had wanted to believe…and it had always been easy to believe him. Too easy.

He should probably write something in reply, but had no idea how to begin. He was skilled with a sword, not so much with a pen. He set the letter aside and blew out the candle.

As lonely and lost as he felt in Weisshaupt, and as much as he still missed Aedan, it was best that he was staying for a while. It would give him time to sort out his feelings. Adelheid had said that he was more than a Warden, but he didn't know what more he could be now. Who else was he? He had renounced his bastard royalty and fled his lover. And maybe he _needed_ to be colder. His passion had blinded him to Aedan's duplicity, and his emotions were easily seen by anyone. Not that he wanted to deceive others, but he knew his transparency left him open to manipulation. His emotions could be played on even from a thousand leagues away, with a simple letter. Aedan would have know how much it meant to him that Fergus treated him as family, would have calculated how hard those lines would strike. Maybe it was better to be cold.


	17. The Anderfels:  A Short Excursion

The following day Alistair reported to Marschalc and was assigned duties training new recruits. His impression of the man was hardly positive, but it proved unimportant. The First's lieutenant did not often linger around the training grounds, and he was left largely to his own devices.

Training young Wardens was a familiar role for Alistair, and he was good at it. It had been his only major area of responsibility at Amaranthine, the one place where Aedan had given him free rein. Aedan himself was too impatient to be a good teacher, and his intimidating reputation worked against him in that role.

It was satisfying to have something productive to do, to take his mind off Aedan. The new recruits were a little in awe of him, having heard of his role during the Blight, but his self-deprecating humor soon helped them relax. And his years as an instructor had taught him that relaxation was critical, for it was difficult to learn if you were always tense, fearing to make a mistake. Besides, many Wardens joined up under difficult circumstances, and could use a little levity. He suspected the other instructors thought him frivolous, but he decided not to care. He had resolved to be harder, colder, and would not concern himself with seeking their approval.

Why should he need it? He had watched them and sparred against them and he would not fear to cross swords with any of them. The few who could match him technically and had even a tenth of his experience in battle were past their best. Unlike the younger wardens, they knew that the Archdemon had not been felled in the proper manner. He assumed that was why many of them were cool to him, but he was determined not to let their disapproval faze him. They had never faced the Archdemon, as he had.

It was several weeks before he realized the real source of their resentment. One of the other instructors brought him up short by asking him about his tactics against ogre emissaries. Never having encountered one, he had no advice to give, and inquired—quite seriously—as to how they had handled them. An emissary with the toughness of an ogre, enhanced by defensive spells would be a formidable opponent indeed.

Only later did he understand they had been putting him on, hoping he would boast of his feats in slaying a nonexistent form of Darkspawn. They had wanted to believe that he exaggerated his accomplishments. It was not so much his surviving the Blight that irked them, it was the way the recruits' eyes shone when he spoke of his experiences, and the way he had shrugged and said he had lost count after Ostagar when asked how many Darkspawn he had slain. "After I ran out of fingers and toes to count on, I couldn't continue," he had joked. He had not intended to brag, but the recruits always wanted to hear stories of battle, and his outshone those of even the most experienced veterans in Weisshaupt.

There was little he could do about it, he decided. He would prefer not to talk about the Blight because it was impossible not to think of Aedan, but it was inevitable that he would be asked about it. It was better when he could just focus on teaching shield maneuvers.

And so the days passed and summer faded. Early in Harvestmere, Adelheid asked him if he would like to go on a short excursion, while the weather was still pleasant. Eager to get out of his routine, he assented and asked what she had in mind.

"I was thinking we could hike up Warden's Watch. It's only about a day's journey from here. We could be back in three days," she had told him.

Two days later he had gathered up his camping gear and met her at the inn in the Dorf. His horse, Sommerled seemed pleased to see him when they arrived. Since Adelheid was on foot and it was too much to ask the horse to carry both of them and all their gear, he elected to walk beside her.

It occurred to him that he had never seen her in bright sunlight before. She looked a little older, as the faint lines on her face were brought out more by daylight than the softer light of torches. But she also looked tougher: lean, tanned, and strong despite her small stature.

"Are you sure that you wish to be so burdened with armor?" she asked, raising a dark eyebrow. He had worn his full helmet and mail.

"Well…doesn't Warden's Watch look over the waste? We need to be prepared for Darkspawn attacks and _I_ can't defend myself with magic.

She sighed. "I suppose…I just thought you might be more comfortable. It's a steep climb."

"I'm used to it," he insisted. "I walked all over Ferelden in this suit of armor."

"Even the helmet?"

He chuckled. "If I take it off, I'll soon be so red Sommerled may bite me, mistaking my head for a beet." The sun was much stronger in the Anderfels than in Ferelden; the skies were often cloudless, and there was little shade.

They set out along a trail that followed the stream that flowed out of the Hunterhorn Mountains. The valley bottom was filled with irrigated fields of rye and wheat, which were being brought to harvest. The surrounding slopes looked too barren to support much of anything to Alistair's eyes, yet he could see that people raised sheep and goats on the meager forage.

After mid-day, their path led away from the stream, so they gathered as much water as they could before continuing. There would be no more sources of water on the trail beyond. They climbed out of the valley onto a vast brown plateau covered with sagebrush and scattered shrubs. Warden's Watch loomed straight ahead, a spire of dark grey rock, similar to the one on which Wesshaupt stood, but higher. They camped in its long shadow that evening. They would have to leave Sommerled tied up near the base of the Watch, because she had warned him that the footing would be too dangerous for a horse, in places.

The following day they began their ascent. When he had viewed the Watch from afar, he had wondered how they could climb it without rope, but a steep, narrow path that wound around the precipice had been hewn out of the rock. He soon found himself struggling to keep up with Adelheid on the climb. Determined that he should be able to keep pace with a woman ten years his senior, he panted after her, his heart pounding.

"Alistair, if you need to rest, please stop me,"

Sheepishly, he admitted that he did. "I guess I didn't want to look…weak."

She shook her head. "The gear you're dragging up the hill with you must weigh nigh as much as I do. And you're not used to the Anderfels, yet."

"What do you mean?"

"People from other places always find they tire easily here, until they have lived here for a few years." She shrugged. "Something about the air in the highlands."

He _had_ noticed that fatigue set in earlier than expected when he was sparring, but he had attributed it to the time he had rested in Orlais, thinking he must have lost some of his fitness.

"Besides," she added, "I _do _spend my days walking up and down stairs at the library."

When he had recovered his breath, they pushed onward. As they climbed around the flank, she pointed out the sheer face of the Merdaine cliff in the distance to the northwest, and the enormous figure of Andraste that had been carved into it. They stood for a while looking at it. After a time, he asked, "Do you believe?"

"Hmm…I believe that Andraste was a great leader who brought down an evil empire. And I suppose that—something—needed to be done about mages, though I'm not sure that what we have is what she had in mind. Magic may not rule over mankind now, but with most mages locked away, I'm not sure it really _serves_ mankind, either." She gave him a wry smile. "As to the rest—of course I was steeped in the Chantry's dogma in the Circle, but as an archivist, I've read too many different accounts of the world to know _what_ to believe. The Dalish, the Qunari, the Chasind…they all have different stories of how things came to be. I feel as if…something had to create our world, I suppose."

"So you don't think that we go to the Maker's side when we die? I've wondered about that, and whether the taint…it's a poison of the soul as well as the body…whether it…?"

"We know the soul passes through the Fade after death, through the Second Veil. But what lies beyond is unknown. And I cannot answer for Wardens. I read one scholar that claimed that the spirits of the Fade are the souls of those who cannot.—or will not-make the last journey. He also claimed that Andraste's 'Maker' was a powerful spirit of the Fade." She sighed. "What about you? Do you believe what you were taught as a Templar?"

He shook his head. "I thought I had rejected all of it…but then, after what we saw in Haven. Maybe there's something to it. But what Leliana believes…believed-I don't know if she still does after what happened—that the Maker meant for it to happen the way it did, I don't know. The Chantry says He's turned away from us."

"Well, it is one way to explain the mess we have to deal with," she chuckled. After a last glance at Andraste's figure, her torch held high to light the way for mankind, they resumed their climb.

It was past mid-day when they reached the top, where the ruins of a stone tower stood. They surveyed the plateau to the north and west, gripping what was left of the tower steps to steady themselves against the wind. Alistair had never seen a land so bare, nothing but rock and windblown sand. Not so much as a patch of sagebrush disturbed the grey, lifeless expanse. "This is the blighted land?" She nodded. "Not even the most ruined parts of southern Ferelden are like…this." He squinted into the distance, "But what are those?" he asked, gesturing toward a field littered with large objects he couldn't quite make out.

"Bodies. A battlefield."

"A battlefield? But I had not heard of any recent battles here, certainly nothing of a scale…?"

"It was centuries ago…the bodies are still there." He shivered, not because of the wind.

"I thought you should see this. It seems to me that since you've come here, you've thought so much of what you and Aedan _didn't_ do, that you've forgotten what you did. This could have been your home."

He tried to imagine the familiar landscapes around Redcliffe and Amaranthine devoid of life, failed. "I know, but what if Morrigan's wrong and the Blight starts again somewhere else when she returns?" He sighed. "When I was in the Hall of Heroes, I could not help thinking what it would be like to be memorialized like that, to leave such a mark on the world. Ordinary people leave at least their children behind as a legacy…"

She turned to face him, "Your legacy is a whole country, Alistair. Can you really think you will not be remembered? As to Morrigan's child, well…at least we know what she is, and can prepare." She turned away again and spoke into the wind. "If she had come to you, what would you have done?"

He snorted. "She wouldn't have come to me. She knew I didn't trust her." His mind rebelled at even imagining what it would have been like to make love to her. "And if she had…I'd have thought she was lying, trying to get a Thierin heir for some reason."

"Did Aedan trust her?"

_Did he?_ "I asked him that, when he told me. He was…evasive, saying that she did not believe she would cause a Blight. But I don't know if Aedan trusted anybody completely." _Even me._ "Maybe it was what happened to his parents." Or maybe knowing his own capacity for treachery…

She continued to prod him, "But if you had somehow been convinced there would be no Blight…say the offer had been made by Wynne instead of Morrigan…?"

He started to laugh when he tried to imagine Wynne making such an offer. But he knew what she was driving at, and tried to answer. "It's not…I mean, I _understand_ why Aedan did it. Maybe I would have even done the same in his place, had I known he would insist on slaying it himself, but…surely it's _wrong_ to love one person so much." He lowered his eyes. "And he should have told me what he had done and told me…other things."

"He should have told you," she agreed. "Especially since it must have been terrible for you when he took down the Archdemon. But maybe he was…ashamed. And did you never ask, after the fact?"

"I could have, but I _trusted _him. And now…" he shook his head. "Do you think we could find a sheltered place to eat before going down?

On the way down, he pondered what she had said at the summit. He had trusted Aedan so much that he had not pressed him to learn what he had really done to slay the Archdemon, or what he was doing for Celene. He had known Aedan kept secrets from him. _Surely it was wrong to love one person so much?_ He had asked Adelheid. _Was it also wrong to trust one person so much?_

Although it had been warm enough during the day, even exposed to the wind as they had been near the top, it was cold that night. He could see why she had said that it would soon be too late in the year for this trek. As he lay alone in his tent, he thought how pleasant it would be to lie beside someone else, wondered if she would have welcomed him, had he suggested it.


	18. Weisshaupt:  An Overture

After returning to Weisshaupt, Alistair began to think seriously about pursuing more in his relationship with Adelheid. He knew that she liked him, and understood him, and he enjoyed spending time with her. And after his experience with Genevieve at _Le Renard Rouge_, though it had not been fully satisfying, he knew that he could function with a woman, at least…not that he would insist on moving so fast. He wondered whether the fact that she was a fellow Warden would make it feel more comfortable. _Or more like being with Aedan?_ He brushed that thought away.

Yet as the days passed, he saw Adelheid often and he made no move. Surely, this should be easier than it had been with Aedan, he thought. I was young, inexperienced and a bastard, then, and he was a nobleman. Oh, in theory, his nobility ended when he joined the Wardens but still…yet Alistair had found the courage to approach him. Why should he hesitate now?

He thought about it over his mid-day meal at the _Grau Greifen_. The problem was that approaching her was a very different prospect. He had known Aedan desired him. What had held him back then was not fear of rejection, but uncertainty about his own feelings. He was far from sure that she was interested in him as a man. But maybe she just hadn't considered it because he was younger than her, or because she might think him uninterested in women.

As he chewed on a leg of mutton and pondered this, he became aware of a dark-eyed man he had never seen before staring at him. Actually, glowering would be a better description. His thin lips were pressed in a scowl above a dark beard streaked with grey. What was the man's problem? Were his table manners so disgusting? Alistair crossed his arms and glared back, thinking the man would surely stop, but he persisted. He finally looked away, but his fists were clenched on his table. It seemed he was not a man having a bad day who happened to be looking at him; Alistair was his bad day.

He could not imagine why. If this were Ferelden, a personal grudge would not have surprised him. He and Aedan had made their share of enemies during the Blight. The man must know he was a Warden—his shield lay propped on the chair beside him—but could he hate all Wardens so much? And if he did, what was he doing in Weisshaupt? A lot of Wardens Alistair knew would not hesitate to challenge the man, and such was the reputation of the Grey Wardens that only the most foolhardy would invite such a challenge. He was armored and bore a sword, but did he really want to provoke a Warden? And if he knew who Alistair was, to pick a fight was more foolish still. What was this man thinking? He didn't think it was possible the man knew enough to despise him for surviving the Archdemon. Alistair did not think he was a Warden at all, though there was so much taint in Weisshaupt that it was difficult to be sure about individuals.

Well, he needed to finish his meal and get out to the training field. He was not the sort of man to kill over a dirty look. Still, the mystery of the man's scowl continued to trouble him as he worked with Dirske and the other recruits.

Afterward, he went through his calisthenics, and thought about Adelheid. She had no man in her life, so far as he could tell. Yet she seemed content…maybe she didn't want one. But surely no one wanted to be alone? Unless he asked her, he could never be sure. He decided that he would approach Adelheid that night. She had invited him over to supper at her house; it would be an ideal opportunity. Before going there, he washed himself and put on the fancy clothes Sybille had given him. He decided that, for once, he would not wear armor or even bring his shield. He even considered even leaving his sword behind, but the outfit came with a matching sheath so he did not.

She greeted him at her door with a smile, while her cat hid under a chair and watched him suspiciously. "Minka is used to seeing you at the library, but this is his territory, I'm afraid. He'll get used to your presence."

She filled a cup with what he assumed was wine, but when he swirled the golden liquid in the cup and sniffed it, as he had learned to do at Sybille's, the scent was…odd. It reminded him of the pine forests in the Frostback Mountains, not wine.

Seeing his expression, she laughed. "Ah, you've never had Tevinter wine before. We don't grow grapes here in the Anderfels and Orlesian wine often spoils on the way here. The Tevinter wines keep better, something about the casks they're stored in, but they are a little different in taste and scent, I understand. Try it."

He took a cautious sip. The flavor was certainly not like any wine he had tasted, but it was not unpleasant, and seemed to go well with the meal she had prepared, chicken in a tangy, spicy red sauce, made from a sort of soured milk and red pepper. As they ate, he asked her, "You seem to understand me—what it's been like for me-so well. Have you ever been in love?"

"Yes," she said, without hesitating. "Back when I was in the Circle. We planned to become Wardens together but…it didn't work out that way." She looked away.

His eyes widened. "Oh. The…Joining?"

She shook her head. "Nothing so dramatic. He just wasn't chosen. And he didn't understand that some commitments can't be unmade. We exchanged letters for a while, but I don't think he ever forgave me. I saw him a few years later, when we were recruiting at the Circle again, but…he didn't want to speak to me. So I guess I have some experience with what it is to leave someone you love."

"I'm sorry…and since then there's been no one…?"

She chuckled. "I've not become a Chantry sister…but no one I loved, no." She took a long swallow of her wine.

He finished his meal and got up to put another log on the fire. He still found it odd that the nights were so cold here, and mid-winter was still some time away. He had not expected it to be cold so far north.

As he sat back down, she said, "One of the few things I remember from being a little girl, before I was taken away to the Circle, was the servants making this dish. It's a typical of the Lattenfluss Valley, north of Hossberg.. I'm glad I was able to…share it with you before you return to Ferelden."

Servants? He wondered. She had never mentioned that she came from that sort of background. Though when he thought of it, he recalled that her family had been delighted when she became a Warden and that she had felt used. For political purposes, he supposed.

He decided this was as good an opening as he was going to have. He took a deep breath. "I was thinking that…maybe I won't back to Ferelden." An arch of her eyebrows. "I mean…I guess if the First sends me back for this idea of Aristomachus, but I could come back. There's nothing for me in Ferelden now and I thought maybe I could stay here…with you…?" Her head jerked back, slightly. _She's going to say no._ "I know that I haven't known you very long but you…I think I'd _miss _you when I go back to Ferelden. I've come to care for you and I thought…maybe you…?"

"Alistair, I'm sorry. I never thought that you were thinking of us that way. Surely you can see…" she shook her head. "I mean, for one thing I'm too—"

"I know you're older than me." He was ready for this argument. "But what does it matter? It's not like we would have…children." That was why men preferred younger women, wasn't it, at least in part? "You're still beautiful and wise and…I don't care what anybody would say."

"Alistair, it's more than twenty years since my Joining. I don't have much time left. You can't want to link your fate to mine. And besides, you're not free. You love another."

"You mean my love for strong hard cheeses?" She didn't laugh. "You mean…no, not after what he did."

"Alistair you don't shrug off love like a worn-out tunic. You're angry at him, but how often have you thought of him today?"

"You think I should back to him," he accused her.

With a hint of asperity, "No one else can tell you that. But if we became lovers, you'd be measuring me against Aedan…and I cannot fill his boots for you.." She reached forward and touched his hand. "I know you're lonely. I thought I could be your friend but please don't ask me for more."

"And…there's something else you should know, that I should have told you…"

He pulled his hand away and rose from his chair. "I don't think I need to hear anything else" This hurt more than he thought it would. He had known this might happen, why was it so painful? He had thought that if she turned him down, he would just turn it into a joke, but he didn't feel like doing so.

"Alistair, please. Sit down. Don't leave. I _do _care about you. I just don't think…"

He moved to the door. "Sorry. I shouldn't have—dinner was lovely, thank you but I—need to be alone."


	19. Weisshaupt:  Swords in the Dark

Alistair wrapped his fur-lined cloak about him and began to make his way home. Her had not walked far from Adelheid's house when he heard the crunching of snow underfoot in an alleyway joining the street. He turned to look down the alley and was startled to see the glint of metal in the moonlight: an armored man was approaching him with his sword drawn. Alistair leaped backward to give himself time to draw his own sword from his sheath.

The glow from the violet sparks that danced along the Keening Blade gave him a little more light by which to see his assailant. Though he didn't think the man was a warden, he was no common thug, for his sword and armor were silverite. "I _knew_ you would be here!" raged the strange man through his helmet.

"What are you talking about? I don't even know you?" he complained as he sidestepped the man's first assault and gave a riposte of his own, blocked by the man's shield. The device on the shield—a gray wolf on a yellow background—looked familiar, but the couldn't place it. But there was little time to contemplate it now, or even to wonder why he was being attacked, as the man advanced on him, slashing toward him..

Without any armor, Alistair was all too cognizant of the fact that he did not dare let the man's blade touch him. Worse, he was unused to fighting without his shield. Without it, he felt off-balance, and his instincts were liable to get his left hand severed. He might be better off wielding his sword with both hands under the circumstances, but his hands were too big to get them both around the pommel. He retreated before the man's assault, parrying each attack and studying the man's style. His attacker was skilled. His moves were executed with good timing and precision. He was also strong, strong enough that he knew that silverite blade could carve a lethal blow through his cloak. Alistair could feel the force of the man's blows when he parried.

_Calm down_, he told himself. _Aedan fights in melees with little more protection than this all the time, and while you're not as quick as him, you're quicker than this man. Dodge, parry, and bide your time. _And so he retreated, and spun, and evaded blow after blow. _Aedan always says if you make an armored man chase you, he'll tire_. But the climb up Warden's Watch had left him unsure of his own stamina, and this was not the way he preferred to fight. It would be a truly stupid end to die here, when he didn't even know why he was being attacked. He was almost tempted to flee, but he dared not turn his back.

He tried a backhanded slash followed by a delicate thrust, mostly to see how quickly his opponent responded. The man was pretty good…but was he breathing a little harder than Alistair? He continued to draw him back, hoping to make it to Adelheid's door.

He saw an opening and took it, a forehand slash at the man's left arm, hoping he would drop his shield, but though he drew first blood, it was only a glancing blow and the man held on. Still, he detected a note of impatience, a desire to end this quickly. The man was taking bigger cuts with his blade…easier to dodge but deadlier if they landed. Finally, Alistair ducked beneath a whirling cut of the man's blade—near enough to shorten his hair-and saw his opportunity. He moved forward, thrusting the point of his sword into the joint between helmet and mail. The man fell to the ground, and his blood spread into the surrounding snow. He mumbled something Alistair couldn't understand as he died.

He stood over the body, still mystified by his attacker, thinking that he should probably go to the guard post at the gate and explain what had happened. He realized where he had seen the device on the man's shield, now. It was the man who had glared at him in _Der Grau Greifen_, though he still did not understand why. He was still there when Adelheid ran down the street and gasped as he saw the man.

She knelt at the body and shook her head. "This is my fault. If I'd known he was _here_…"

Alistair turned to her. "You knew him? Why did he attack me."

She looked up at him. "He was my husband."

"What? I'm sorry, but I didn't know—he came at me with a sword and I—"

"It's my fault, not yours. But you should leave. I'll deal with this and explain—in a letter. I shouldn't see you for a while. Go."

"But—"

"Go!"

He wandered back to his room, now as bewildered as he was dejected. The next day, a messenger brought him a note:

_Dear Alistair,_

_ I am deeply sorry that I did not explain more about my situation earlier. It was never my intention to lead you on, nor did I anticipate that our friendship could put you in danger. It did not occur to me that you would desire me as a woman, or that our friendship would come to his attention. _

_I married the man who attacked you—Baron Thadeus Kukelbrecht—soon after I left the Circle to become a Grey Warden. My family desired an alliance with his, and his family desired a connection to the Wardens. I agreed to the arrangement, out of a desire to please the family from which I had been separated for so long. It was a mistake. There is no need to recount the details, but we were not compatible. We had not lived as man and wife for many years._

It was not difficult for us to separate and still maintain the fiction that we were married. After all, I had my duties here in Weisshaupt, and he had a fief to manage in the Lattenfluss Valley. But the expectation was always that I would not be known to have a lover. What I did in private mattered little, but it would not do for him to be known as a cuckold.

_It seems that word must have come back to him that I was 'carrying on' with a younger man and he decided to do something about it. I suppose I should have realized from our past arguments that he might take such drastic action, but I did not think of it connection with us. We were not lovers, so I did not consider how it might appear to others. I still find it hard to believe he was so foolish as to come after you alone, but I suppose it must have been his pride to take you on without aid from retainers. I think he always resented the Wardens because he was not chosen. The Kukelbrecht family had groomed him for it, and he had failed them, which was why our marriage was necessary. I suppose he thought that coming upon you unprepared, without armor, that he could defeat you. Though he was not a monster, I shall not mourn him in truth, nor can I blame you. I know that you sought only to defend yourself._

_I wish I could have explained all this last night, before you went out. But I was too late, and then I had to send you away, so that you would not be connected to this by the Guard. As a senior warden, I doubt they could touch you legally. However, if his family knew that he was killed by a friend of mine, they would have sought revenge. Do not concern yourself with me. I told them that Thadeus was attacked by a robber after leaving my home, and that the attacker fled before I arrived at the scene. I think I was believed. After all—even if they thought I had cause to slay him—I am no swordsman._

_His family will be coming to Weisshaupt soon and I will need to go through the motions of grief while they are here. I think it is best if we avoid each other for a time. After they depart, I would still like to be your friend, though I understand if you do not wish it so._

_With my deepest apologies,_

_Adelheid._

He crumpled the parchment up and tossed it away with a sigh.


	20. Weisshaupt:  New Instructions

WEISSHAUPT: NEW INSTRUCTIONS

Alistair stayed in Weisshaupt throughout the winter months. Each day passed much the same as the previous one as he went to the keep to train the younger wardens, spar with his peers, do his exercises, then returned to his cold room. Baron Kukelbrecht's funeral came and went, but while he saw Adelheid from a distance occasionally—Weisshaupt was too small for their paths never to cross—he made no move to resume their friendship. Her rejection of his tentative overture, had stilled any thoughts of staying in Weisshaupt.

But neither was he looking forward to returning to Ferelden. It was hard to imagine serving under Aedan if they were no longer lovers. Perhaps he could ask to be assigned to lead some post like Mont Vieuxmur. However, the Wardens preferred to have posts run by Wardens of their native country, and Ferelden had only the one stronghold. But even if Aedan could be persuaded to allow him to open a new chapter—perhaps at Soldier's Peak?—he doubted he would find much satisfaction in it.

He supposed that it was foolish to expect more from his life than training, Joinings and the occasional Darkspawn raid until he descended into the Deep Roads for the last time. After all, centuries passed between Blights; most Grey Wardens never saw one. _In war, victory; _ _in death, sacrifice; in peace, vigilance_. Who would have thought that it would be the last of those three that would be most challenging. But it was so: the vigilance that occupied the bulk of the lives of Wardens over the centuries was not enough for him. Why had it ever seemed otherwise?

When he had passed the Joining, the Archdemon was already stirring and had haunted his dreams. It had been terrible and frightening and glorious. He and his brothers—the fatherless boy had brothers!—had been united in blood, united in purpose. That had come to an end at Ostagar, but the need for him had not ended. And even when the Blight had been vanquished, there had been Aedan…maybe Adelheid had been right that he could not expect another to fill Aedan's boots. Aedan had told him once that he had fought the Blight and killed the Archdemon for him, not for Ferelden or the Grey Wardens or anything else. Alistair wasn't sure he was comfortable with so…_extreme_ a love, but it had sustained him for years and there was a void in his life without it.

Being a Warden in Weisshaupt was not like those months with Duncan. Ferelden's Wardens were a small, close knit group that really had felt like brothers, like family. Weisshaupt had so many Wardens that there were many he still had not met, or who were little more than faces or names to him. And with the political role of Wardens in the Anderfels-and without the immediacy of the Blight—a Warden here seemed little different than any other soldier in a time of peace.

Still, he told himself, we are not just any soldiers. Our purpose is to defend not one nation's narrow interests, but all life on the surface. But he struggled to find much satisfaction in vigilance, and yearned for more positive action. So it was with some relief that he received the summons to First's office on a late afternoon in early Guardian.

He entered Anshelm's office to find it much as it had been the last time he was there, right down to Aristomachus standing by the book case beside the First's desk. He nodded to both in greeting as the First gestured for him to take the chair opposite the desk.

"Thank you for your prompt arrival, Alistair. As you can see Aristomachus has returned from Minrathous and has excellent news: his experiments were successful and he believes that he can reach the godchild through Aedan."

Aristomachus held up a cautionary hand. "I would not say that. I know that the technique works for locating blood relatives within our world, but the girl is in another realm entirely. Still," he stroked his beard, "I judge it worth a try."

Alistair turned to the mage. "But that's amazing! If you can reach a man's relatives this way, couldn't this be used to transmit messages instantly over long distance?" Problems of communication over long distances had plagued armies at war for centuries. Sometimes bloody battles and massacres had taken place after the war was over, simply because of the delay in receiving word that a peace had been accepted.

Aristomachus blinked, then slowly explained, "I don't think this could ever be used in that way except in dire need. It takes…a great deal of power, much like the ritual that was used to confront the demon you told us about in Redcliffe."

He nodded. He should have thought of that himself.

Anshelm leaned across the desk. "Still, we believe it is worth it in _this_ instance. However, we need to get Aedan to come to Coteaux du Roche. The ritual must be performed close to where the girl crossed over to the other world to have a chance, we believe." Aristomachus nodded in confirmation. "And that's where you come in. We do not think Aedan will answer our summons. You must persuade him to help us."

Alistair frowned. "I—can try, but I can't promise anything. If Aedan listened to me, we would have come here, rather than looking for Morrigan. He's…stubborn."

"But would he not do anything to have you back?"

Alistair jerked back in his chair in surprise. How did the First know that he had left Aedan? He had told no one in Weisshaupt but Adelheid. "I—he might but I…don't know if I want to…be with him again."

Aristomachus shrugged. "So change your mind later on."

"But he'll know if I'm lying to him…" protested Alistair.

Anshelm shook his head. "It is never difficult to lie to a man when he _wants_ to believe you." His pale blue gaze fixed on Alistair. "This is our best chance to make an end to the danger posed by Urthemiel. We are counting on you, Alistair."

He took a deep breath. He felt sick to his stomach at the thought of deceiving Aedan in such a hurtful way. Maybe it wouldn't be necessary; maybe Aedan would agree to come to Coteaux du Roche without him having to make false promises. After all, it did make sense to stop Aife from becoming a danger, didn't it? And she wouldn't even have to die…Aristomachus had said that killing her in the fade might render her tranquil, harmless. "I will do my best."

The First leaned back and exhaled. "Good." He extended his hand across the desk to shake Alistair's. "Well, I think you should plan to leave as soon as possible. If I don't see you again before you go, I must thank you once again for your service. I know that you endured great hardship to reach us. May you find your way home safely." He suggested that Alistair leave in two days with a messenger who was headed for the port of Asariel. Alistair was hesitant to agree to a sea voyage, but knew that the passes to Orlais would still be too snowbound to negotiate.

Aristomachus walked along side him as he left the keep."Thank you for sharing your account with us," he said, as they parted, "…it was truly fascinating, a remarkable story. I feel—honored to have heard it. Good luck, brother."

Alistair returned to his room to begin packing. He had one more day to say his goodbyes and make sure he had all the necessary supplies, before he would need to depart for Asariel. As he was clearing off the small writing desk, he picked up Aedan's last letter. The wax seal had peeled off intact rather than breaking when he had opened the letter. He was about to put it away when he noticed that the seal didn't look quite the way he remembered.

Comparing it to the ink print from Aedan's signet ring on the inside of the letter, he realized the impression in the wax seal was missing the small stylized "F" for Ferelden on the lower right corner. The mark on the wax was made by a Warden signet ring, no doubt, but it wasn't Aedan's. The First had read Aedan's letter.


	21. Weisshaupt Preparing for Departure

Alistair's heart was troubled when he woke the next morning. He supposed that how the First had learned of his separation from Aedan did not change his duty, but it angered him none the less. Why had the First read the letter, and perhaps the previous one as well? Perhaps he sought to see if Aedan revealed information to Alistair that had not been provided in his letter. Maybe that could even be justified, because the Council had reason to distrust Aedan. But it bothered him that he had concealed it with the false seal, pretended that he knew no more than he should: He had been honest with the Council and they had repaid him with distrust and deception. Anger was not a sufficient reason to ignore the First's orders, but it left him more hesitant to fulfill them.

For someone who thought Wardens should not love, the First was remarkably willing to take advantage of his relationship with Aedan. Alistair found the idea of lying to Aedan, leading him to think they could start over to be revolting. But maybe he was a fool to think it would be deception. If he let him back into his life, would he ever find the strength to leave again?

After packing his things, he went to the training grounds to say farewell to the instructors and young Wardens he had worked with in Weisshaupt. None of these goodbyes were hard; he had not formed real attachments here. He had only made one real friend in Weisshaupt and he delayed taking leave of her until the end. Though he had been hurt by her rejection, he still felt the need to see her before he left.

Adelheid was not at the archives when he went there after his afternoon training, so he decided to stop by her house after dinner. It was shortly after sunset when he knocked on her door. "Hi," he said, as she opened the door.

"Alistair," she said, her voice rising in tone, as if surprised. "How nice to see you. I was wondering how you were doing…"

"I'm going back to Ferelden tomorrow. I wanted to say goodbye. Maybe you don't want to see me. I know that I was abrupt when I left that night and I should have wrote you back but—"

She shook her head. "Please come in. It was my fault. I'm sorry that I didn't foresee what would happen." She opened the door fully and he entered, wiping the dust from his boots.

She served him a glass of that peculiar Tevinter wine and lit a fire in the hearth, then they talked in her sitting room. After a while, he told her that Aristomachus had returned from Minrathous, claiming success in his experiments.

"He did?" Her eyes opened wide and she bit her lip. "I did not think it possible."

"The First wants me to convince Aedan to come to Coteaux du Roche, so they can do this ritual.

The muscles in her forearms tightened before he had finished speaking, but her voice was level. "And do you intend to do this?" She tilted her head to one side and frowned. "Alistair, maybe there are arguments for this as a Warden, but I can't believe—do you think you can live with this?"

"I'm hoping Aedan will see that it's the best thing and that I don't have to—the First wants me to promise to be his lover again and if I don't want to I can change my mind later, but—"

Her hands clasped the sides of her head and she stared at him. "What?" She paused for a moment and her hands slid down and her mouth opened wide. "Oh. They didn't tell you. Of course not. What was I thinking? Alistair, if you do this, there will be no later. The ritual depends upon Aedan's death."

His mouth fell open and his head pitched forward as if he had been punched in the stomach. Gasping for breath, he could not utter a word before she started into her explanation.

"Because you're so familiar with magic—I guess because of your Templar training and the mages you've worked with as a Warden—I sometimes forget the limits of your knowledge. You've probably heard of people saying that they knew when someone they loved had died?"

He nodded, still struck dumb.

"They are not mistaken. When someone dies, their soul passes through the Fade on its last journey but it visits those who were closest to the person's heart on its way. For us, our awareness encompasses the Fade even when awake, but for non-mages, they sometimes sense something, especially if they are asleep. When Aristomachus said 'blood calls to blood', that must have been…what he meant."

"But he said that he had _tested_ this. How—"

"Slaves. Maybe a Warden whose time had come but…in Minrathous, I'd guess slaves."

Choking down bile, he asked her, "So you've known they were planning this for months? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I—I didn't know for sure. And I didn't think it was _possible_. But—when you told me they needed Aedan to go to Orlais, then I knew. Why did you think they had to get him out of Ferelden?"

"They said they needed to be close to where the girl left our world."

"Pfft…it's the Fade. It's a realm of thought, of emotion, not space. They wouldn't dare try it in Amaranthine; they'd never make it out alive."

He should have thought of that. It made sense in terms of what he had been taught as a Templar about the Fade, but he hadn't been expecting the First to lie to his face. His stomach knotted up as he thought how he could have been used to lure Aedan to his death. Adelheid had it right: he could not have lived with such a betrayal on his conscience. He took a deep breath and planted his forehead in his right hand, his elbow on the table in front of him. _Where do I go from here?_

After a while he looked up. "After leaving Aedan, I felt being a Warden was all I had but I can't—how could the First _use_ me this way?"

"I warned you that being _only_ a Warden would be a cold thing indeed."

"But if I'm not a Warden, if I don't follow him…"

She sighed. "You're still a Warden. You've taken no oath of obedience to the First."

He knew that, of course. The Wardens were not that rigid a hierarchy. "But if I can't trust the First…and I don't trust Aedan anymore…I don't know what to do."

"Trust your heart, Alistair. Trust your instincts. You're neither a fool nor a child and it's high time you time you stopped looking to others for guidance—and yes, that does include me",: she added with a wry smile.

He took a swallow of wine and frowned. "I—I'm afraid I'll make mistakes."

"You will. We all do. Wouldn't you rather make your own mistakes than other people's?"

"I suppose you're right. But I still don't know what to do now."

"What do you want to do?"

"Part of me wants to go back to the First's office and let him taste my anger." Or even his steel…

"But?"

She had sensed his hesitation. Well, he had said only 'part of him' wanted to do this. "If I tell the First that I'm not going through with this, that I would warn Aedan…" he frowned. "He might not let me leave." He remembered when they first talked of needing him to persuade Aedan to help them, before Aristomachus had gone to Minrathous, thinking he might be a hostage. "If Aedan thought I was in danger, he'd come here." Even now, when he had left him alone, he knew Aedan would come for him.

She nodded. "And so…?"

"I suppose I must leave tomorrow as planned, without speaking my mind. The First mentioned a courier I could travel with, who would be going to the port of Asariel. And I suppose at this time of year, it would be faster to go by sea… I should warn Aedan as soon as I can but I…get sick."

"No need to be embarrassed, my dear, it's not that uncommon. But I know an herb that can remedy that. I'll make the preparations tonight so I can give the potions to you in the morning. You may find it makes you feel dizzy and a little…sleepy and unfocused, but it's better than being sick all the way to Ferelden."

He nodded. "But…it's already dark. Are you sure you don't want to wait until tomorrow."

"No, I think it's best if you leave as soon as possible. I can go without a little sleep. It's the least I can do." She fell silent, looking into the fire in her hearth for a moment. "I am sorry that I could not be…more for you but—as painful it is—I think sometimes we need to be alone, to find our own way." She reached across the table and clasped his hand. "Alistair, whatever happens with Morrigan's daughter, your story—and never doubt that is _yours_, as much as it is Aedan's—will be remembered, here in Weisshaupt, and in Ferelden. I am glad that I had the chance to meet you. After more than twenty years in Weisshaupt, I thought I knew what it meant to be a Warden…and you make me think about what it _could_ mean, instead of what it does." She rose to her feet. "But you have a long journey ahead of you and you should sleep. I will give you your potions in the morning."


	22. Weisshaupt: The Third Letter

Alistair awoke early the next morning, gathered his things, and met one last time with Adelheid to receive the potions. After thanking her, he left her a white runestone—one of the little treasures Aedan had given him during the Blight—as a token to remember him. While he was waiting for the courier Kurz, with whom he would be traveling as far as Asariel, the guard at the gatehouse asked, "Say, aren't you Alistair of Ferelden?" When he nodded in confirmation, the man continued, "I have a letter for you from Ferelden—it came in yesterday and it says to deliver to the First but since you're here—"

"I'll take it, thanks." He looked at the seal: it was from Aedan, and he decided he would wait until he was alone to read it. At least this letter would be private.

When Kurz arrived, he retrieved Sommerled from the stable master and they followed the road downhill toward Asariel. It was not until after dinner, in a room at an inn in a village on the border between Weisshaupt and Tevinter, that Alistair read the letter.

_My dearest love,_

_I have waited all these months through the fall and winter, praying to hear some word from you. I know that you reached Weisshaupt safely, for the Dalish Warden Menashe brought me news of your testimony before the Council more than a fortnight ago, but it seems that your silence is the only answer I will receive to my letters. _

_I love you. I always will. But I have spent every day these past months suffering disappointment with every courier that arrives without news from you and I can't continue like this. It seems that I have lost you, and I must accept your decision. I will always treasure the memory of the years we spent together, and rue my failure to keep you. Maybe I tried too hard, was too afraid to let you see who I really was, out of fear that you wouldn't love me as I am. Perhaps you've found another worthy of your affection. Or perhaps I fooled myself, and I never made you as happy as you made me._

Alistair winced as he read those lines. But what good is happiness if it's based on lies?

_I thought of returning your rose with this letter, giving you a chance to bestow it upon another but I find myself unable to part with it. I have decided to keep it as a memento of how I lost the most precious thing in my life. Perhaps I will seek out the cavern in the Deep Roads where you gave it to me and take it with me there, when the time comes._

_It would be easier to let go if I were angry at you, but I cannot hold bitterness against you for you gave me so much joy in the years we spent together. You came into my life when I had lost my home, my family, and my position, and you gave me something to fight for, to live for, a future to hope for. I don't know what I shall do without you._

_I wish you only the best, my love. If you don't return to Ferelden and I never see you again, know that wherever you go, whatever you do in this life, my love goes with you always._

_Yours forever,_

_Aedan_

Despite the closing words, it seemed clear that the letter was a farewell, indicating that Aedan no longer awaited his return. He supposed he should be relieved. If Aedan did not expect him to be his lover, shouldn't that make it easier? Would it even be possible for them to work together as Wardens…no, it would be better for him to find another post.

He wondered if Aedan had already found someone else. After all he was handsome, charming, still young, and perhaps the greatest hero in Ferelden's history. He would not lack for suitors. The idea was surprisingly painful to Alistair, but it shouldn't be. He had, after all, been the one who had left. He supposed Adelheid had been right: Aedan was still part of him. He had merely blocked him out, avoided reflecting on him. But if Aedan was himself releasing his hold, surely Alistair should do the same.

It shouldn't be so difficult…except that Aedan had come into his life when he too had lost everything that had mattered to him. Just reading his words from half a world away filled him with the sound of Aedan's voice, his smile, the touch of his hand, the way it had felt to hold him in his arms. Bedding down alone in a cold bed again, he willed himself not to think of the warmth of his lover's embrace.


	23. The Sea:  A Long Voyage

Either there were no ships traveling to Ferelden or they were Tevinter ships. Alistair had avoidedthose, as he had no desire to be on a slave vessel. However, it was not difficult to get passage as far as Antiva City. He was not even required to pay a fare, for Captain Ferrarius was more than happy to have a Grey Warden aboard his ship. Their course would run near to Llomerryn, an island infamous for pirates, so a fighting man of skill was a welcome passenger.

Alistair was glad that the ship stopped in a number of ports along the Tevinter coast along the way rather than sailing straight for Antiva. At first, that was because he feared becoming violently ill and was prepared to abandon ship and take to land as early as Vyrantium, if necessary. But just as she had promised, the potions Adelheid had prepared saved him from the perpetual nausea and vomiting that had plagued him on his last sea voyage. However, they also left him dizzy and confused. A day in port was a day when his mind was freed of the fog that the potions closed around his mind, as dense as any morning fog the ship encountered.

It was also an opportunity to eat real food, and to venture into the cities on the Nocen Sea. He was initially nervous traveling in the Imperium. He had imagined it full of crazed wizards summoning demons, but he saw little magic actually at work there, and the warmth of a Tevinter spring was welcome after the bitter winter of Wesshaupt. Only the ubiquitous presence of slaves with their iron collars and brands burned into their skins, laboring on every road and aqueduct, reminded him of the brutal nature of the Empire.

Recalling the story Adelheid had told him about Carastes, he ventured up to the ruins on the hilltop overlooking the port. The fortified high city or _acropolis_ had been abandoned when Carastes had fallen to Minrathous. The crumbling remains of the old citadel were overgrown with olive trees and wildflowers, but he was able to find the lion statue that Adelheid said had been erected to honor the Sacred Band. The names of the fallen men had been eroded by exposure to wind, rain and air over the centuries and he doubted he could have deciphered them, even if he could read the old Tevinter script. He sat and stared for a moment, wondering what it would have been like to fall beside one's lover in a hopeless cause. Perhaps not so different from what his brothers had experienced at Ostagar.

The ship did not visit many ports of call beyond where the dense forests of Arlathan crowded the shore. As they passed over open waters, sometimes beyond sight of the land, Alistair felt the certainty that had possessed him when Adelheid had explained the First's plan receding with the shoreline.

Was he behaving like Aedan, placing the world at risk for selfish reasons? Would he have reacted so strongly if it had not Aedan's life, but some other Warden's life, even his own, that would be sacrificed in the ritual? Could the First be right? After all, the Warden's were bidden to fight the Blight at any cost.

When his mind was clear enough, he wrestled with this idea. There was no Blight, not even any real evidence of a danger of a Blight from the girl, he argued with himself. It was only a hypothetical, a mere possibility of a Blight. Aedan was not convinced of that danger, and the First would not even have had him know that his life would be sacrificed in an attempt to avert it. It could not be right to take a man's life on those terms. Aedan had a right to choose his end, not have it thrust upon him. This thought quieted his doubts for a time.

They made only one stop between Tevinter and Antiva: a brief port call for supplies at a Qunari controlled Rivaini port called Kont-arr. Although his stomach stayed stable even as they entered the rougher waters east of Rivain, Alistair longed to walk on firm ground and taste anything other than heavily salted fish, dry biscuits, and old root vegetables in the weeks they circumnavigated Rivain.

They were fogged in nearly every morning on the east coast of Rivain. Captain Ferrarius said this was normal at this time of year and was not concerned, though it slowed their passage, for the winds did not pick up until the sun broke through the fog. The fog kept them hidden from pirates and made for good fishing, or so the captain said.

But on those grey mornings, doubt began to gnaw at Alistair again, and his path seemed as obscured as the sea around them. It occurred to him that thousands of Wardens had given their lives for hypothetical Blights, for centuries had passed between the Fourth and Fifth Blights. And they were often given little choice about the Joining, or warning of what the Joining meant.

He had accepted that as necessary, to guard the Warden's secrets, and ensure continued recruits. But was it necessary? Granted, having only two wardens to fight a Blight, as had befallen Ferelden, was too risky, but did they really need to maintain a force of a thousand in Weisshaupt for centuries when there was no Blight? And Adelheid had said that people continued to join, despite the fact that it was known in the Anderfels that the trial to become a warden was often fatal, and their lives short, even if the reason why remained secret. Was what the First had planned for Aedan really so much more unjust than what had befallen countless Wardens before him?

_Trust your heart,_ Adelheid had told him. Well, his heart said that this ritual could not be allowed, and he could not allow himself to be used to deceive Aedan. But what would his heart have told him about Ser Jory? Had he simply followed Duncan as blindly as he had followed Aedan? By the time he reached Antiva City, he was no longer certain that he believed in the Warden's ethos. He had thought Aedan the truest man and the truest Warden he had known, but he had proven false. Now he began to wonder whether he too was a false Warden, telling recruits that only fighting the Blight mattered, that no cost was too great, when he did not believe it himself. He thought of Yves' contempt for how he was captured in Orlais: _You're a Grey Warden on important business. You should not have delayed yourself for such petty reasons. What's next, looking for stray pets? _And of Halfdan and the First's reaction to the news that they had destroyed the Anvil of the Void. From the moment he had been recruited by Duncan he sought to be a good Warden, and he had believed that he was; now, he was not so sure.

Antiva City was huge, even larger than Orlais, sprawling across a series of small islands laced with canals in Rialto Bay. The wealth of its merchant classes was expressed in the grand palaces that lined the canals. Alistair sat by a fountain in a plaza surrounded by grand arcades and watched the crowds bustle by. Sellswords and smiths, merchants and midwives, Templars and tanners—and no doubt a few artists and assassins, as well—jostled against one another.

If not as a Warden, where would he fit in such a world? Fighting was all he knew. He had not the temperament of a mercenary and he doubted Anora would welcome his service in the Ferelden army, for all that he had renounced his lineage. Eamon might have him in his retinue, but Anora would surely fear a renewed bid for the kingship if he went there. Perhaps he would better off in the Free Marches, but he had no friends to call upon there.

When dusk fell, he went to an inn Captain Ferrarius had recommended. It was expensive, but after the long weeks on the ship he sought comfort, a hot bath, and a good meal, and it did not disappoint. The heady Antivan wine, the exotically spiced roasted lamb and the white asparagus were all good but it was the _insalata _that preceded them that he had most savored: a soft, very fresh cheese served with greens and tomatoes in olive oil. After weeks of ship food, it was almost enough to take his mind off his doubts.

The following day he was unable to find a ship to carry him to Ferelden, but he did find one bound for Kirkwall. Kirkwall had close ties to Ferelden; indeed many Fereldens had fled there during the Blight. From there, he was confident, he could find a way home, if it was still home.

He had suppressed a superstitious shudder when the captain mentioned—after he was already aboard and port was far astern—that they would be stopping in Wycome. His father had set sail for that port and been lost forever; would the son fare better? But as it turned out, the only danger he found in Wycome was of drowning in ale. He had been persuaded to join some of the sailors in a tour of the port-side dives; Wycome was famed for its revelry. Sadly, Adelheid's concoction proved no remedy for the nausea brought on by excessive drinking.

It was Bloomingtide, more than a year after he had left Amaranthine in response to the message from Weisshaupt, when he at last arrived in Kirkwall. The crew were on edge as they approached, for they had heard many rumors of troubles in Kirkwall: a shipwrecked troop of Qunari that refused to leave, apostate mages, a weak Viscount. He could not help but feel as sense of foreboding as they approached Kirkwall's harbor. Though nearly as rich as Antiva City, it seemed to him grim and forbidding, its architecture heavy and lacking the delicate, almost frivolous touches favored by the rich in Antiva. Heavy chains that could be used to close the harbor dangled from huge statues that loomed over it like sentinels, reminding him of its history as a center of the slave trade in the old empire. It was said the mages in Kirkwall were actually kept in the old Imperial slave pens. He knew something of Kirkwall from his time as a Templar in Denerim, and it would not have been his first choice of cities to visit, but he reminded himself that he would not be staying long.


	24. Kirkwall: A Drink After the War

It was not difficult to find passage to Ferelden. Every ship captain in port was eager to get out of Kirkwall as fast as possible. The explanations for the panic that gripped the city were multitudinous and confusing…rioting elves, poisonous fumes, homicidal blood mages. There was some story of a chantry sister assassinating the Viscount's son, the Qunari murdering chantry sisters, and sheltering elvish murderers.

It all made little sense to Alistair, but no matter. He would be leaving for Highever early the next morning. _Highever…as if he needed to be reminded of Aedan. _Then again, he supposed Denerim or Amaranthine would be much the same. They had traveled together almost everywhere in Ferelden; every town would bring back memories of his former lover. But Highever was Aedan's home, even if he hardly ever went there. Still, he couldn't afford to get misty-eyed at those memories. If he could not handle Aedan's ghost, how would he deal with facing him in person once more?

He left the docks and headed for an inn with the inauspicious name of the Hanged Man. It didn't look like much, but it had been recommended to him, and drew a lively crowd, even when the city's mood seemed as nervous as Denerim during the Blight. But socializing could wait. He rented a room, and went through his daily calisthenics and swordplay exercises. It had been difficult to do them properly with the boat shifting under him, and he was feeling out of shape. After a good hard session, he settled into bed for a nap.

When he awoke, put his armor back on, and left the Hanged Man, he found the tavern quiet and the streets deserted. The merchants in the area had packed up their wares, the shoppers were nowhere to be found, and even the beggars were gone. Puzzled, Alistair made his way up the hill where the wealthier citizens lived, and the city's main keep lay, thinking he could surely find a guard to tell him what was happening. He decided to put his helmet on, just in case.

As he was entering a plaza, a small group of people rushed into view. They were an odd-looking collection: an armored woman who appeared to be a member of the city guard, a dark-bearded man in a hood that shadowed his face, an elf with strange silvery tattoos—unlike anything he'd seen among the Dalish-that seemed to be all over his body, from what he could see, and a beardless dwarf. He didn't think he'd seen such a group since the companions he and Aedan had gathered to fight the blight. By the Maker, was that a Mabari hound at the bearded man's side? He might have smiled at the memory, had they not all run into the plaza with their weapons drawn.

Though he wasn't sure the group were after him, he decided he had better be prepared to defend himself. The Keening Blade was in his hand in an instant, and the shield off his back only a moment later, but none too soon. By that time, nearly a dozen Qunari had arrived in the plaza—clearly the foe the others had been prepared to meet—and they had assumed Alistair was one of their enemies.

One of the Qunari sped toward him, a huge two-handed blade in its hands. He blocked the creature's blow with his shield and staggered, his right leg almost buckling beneath him. The strength of the Qunari was akin to an ogre…but he had fought ogres before. He recovered swiftly and sidestepped the next blow, letting his opponent pass him to his right, then slashed at the back of its knees. The Qunari crumpled as he severed tendon and muscle, and he finished it off soon after.

Surveying the battle, he noticed that the woman and the bearded man fought in tandem in a fashion so familiar it gave him goose bumps. She struck a Qunari a blow with her shield that would have a knocked a man flat, but merely stunned the huge creature for a moment, then the man dispatched it with a double-bladed attack from behind. He relaxed a little, seeing that his ad hoc allies were highly skilled. But then he heard a crackling in the air and held up his shield to block a stream of violet sparks. He had not even known that there were Qunari mages, but there was no time to marvel at this unexpected development. It needed to be dealt with immediately.

He raced across the plaza in the direction of the sparks, dodging two Qunari warriors that tried to block his path. Though the Qunari could run fast in a straight line—faster than a man—even armored, Alistair was more agile and could change directions more readily, and he was able to weave his way to the mage. He pushed at it with his mind, neutralizing the defensive ward it had scribed on the ground and drove his shield upward at its torso as hard as he could, hoping to prevent it from casting another spell.

Though it did not fall, the force of his shield bash left it gasping for breath and its concentration was broken. He thrust his sword forward and upward, seeking to slay it before it recovered, but the Qunari fell dead in front of him before his blow could land. A dark-haired woman he had not noticed before smiled at him as she pulled bloody daggers out of the mage, and then returned to the fray, her motions too swift to follow.

The whole battle was over nearly as quickly as it had begun. Ten qunari lay dead, and Alistair and the five strangers had only minor scratches and bruises. Not only were these people as mixed in composition as those who had fought the Blight, they were comparable in skill. They must have worked as a team on many occasions. Alistair wondered what circumstances had forced them into frequent battles, for there was no Blight to account for it here. Times must be turbulent indeed in Kirkwall.

As the dark-bearded man whom the other seemed to view as a leader approached him, Alistair remarked "Well, on the list of things I planned to do today, fighting off a Qunari attack ranked near the bottom."

The man threw back his hood and chuckled at Alistair's cheerful and nonchalant tone, revealing a handsome face, a mischievous grin, and bright blue eyes. "You had more pressing concerns? Thank you for the help. I am Iain Hawke, and these are my friends: Fenris, Isabela, Varric and Aveline. He indicated the elf, the dark-haired woman who had fought with two daggers, the dwarf, and the armored woman in succession.

"My name is Alistair."

"I know," said Isabela. "We met at the Pearl in Denerim a few years ago."

He gaped at her. At _the Pearl?_ He had only been there once.

She unlaced her leather jacket, to cool off after the fighting, he supposed_._ He tried not to stare as her ample bosom sprang into view. "I taught your friend Aedan a few tricks with blades. I would have taught him some tricks for another…concealed weapon, but it seemed he reserved that one for you alone."

He blushed, and she chuckled. The story was starting to sound familiar. "But you look…different."

She laughed again. "In my line of business, sometimes it's advantageous not to look like myself."

"Isabela, much as I hate to interrupt your reminiscences about your sordid past, we do still have to stop a Qunari invasion," Hawke pointed out. He turned to Alistair. "We would welcome your further assistance."

"I'd like nothing better than to help, but…." He hesitated. He did not know what was at stake here. This was not his fight. "But Grey Wardens aren't supposed to involve themselves in wars like this. We did that in Ferelden, but the Order was not impressed, let me tell you." This was true, but it was also true that the Qunari might have killed him had he encountered them alone. It felt wrong to give them nothing at all.

He reached into his pack and pulled out an amulet Aedan had given him some years ago. "Here, maybe this might help. This belongs to an…old friend of mine but I'd be willing to bet he'd like you to have it. Maker Watch over you my friend, and over us all." Iain thanked him for the amulet and then rushed off to the next battle with his friends. Deciding that this was not an opportune time to explore the city, Alistair returned to his room at the Hanged Man.

Around dusk, the sounds of celebration in the street a short time later informed him that the crisis was over, and Hawke's mission must have been successful. He decided to venture out in search of a public bathhouse before having dinner. When he returned to the common room for his evening meal, feeling fresh and clean for the first time in weeks, the Hanged Man was raucous again. Alistair spotted Hawke and his friends at a table, surrounded by a crowd. Thinking that they were busy, he thought to just nod to the man and sit down at the bar, but Iain gestured for him to join them.

He pushed his way to a seat at the table, while various people brought flagons of ale and toasted them, calling Iain 'the Champion of Kirkwall'. His cheeks flushed with drink, Hawke put his arm around Alistair's shoulder and said, "drink a toast to…um…"

"Alistair," said the tall woman who had borne the shield earlier the afternoon. Now her helmet was off and her red hair down, her hand clasping that of a man in a guard's uniform.

"If not for Alistair's timely assault on the _Saarebas_, I might never have reached the Keep to defeat the Arishok."

"You do me too much honor," Alistair replied.

"Nah…if you hadn't handled the mage so quickly—are you a Templar?"

The forearms of an elvish girl sitting beside Hawke with the facial tattoos—_normal_ Dalish tattoos, not like Fenris'—tensed at that, gripping her stein more tightly. _An apostate?_ _Not my concern, but dangerous in Kirkwall, with the reputation of the Templars here._ He shook his head in reply. "I was trained as one but never took vows. I'm a Warden."

"Oh, right, you said that, or Isabela did. I should have remembered."

"Well, you've had a few things on your mind, today." Alistair chuckled. "Where is Isabela, by the way?"

"She had things on her mind, too. More important things to do, it seems." Though he smiled as he said it, it was the sort of smile that did not reach his eyes.

"The bitch," hissed Aveline.

Sensitive subject, it seemed. He decided not to pry. As Alistair's meal arrived, he asked "You're both from Ferelden, aren't you?". It was good to hear familiar accents. It surprised him how much he had missed the speech of his countrymen.

Hawke nodded. "I'm from Lothering. We came during the Blight."

_Lothering_. "I'm sorry…I wish there had been something we could have done."

He shrugged. "Not your fault."

He supposed that was true, but still…"Well, it seems you've done well for yourselves here. You must like Kirkwall."

"Oh yes, Kirkwall. With all the insane mages, religious fanatics, assorted thugs and other _special _people, what's not to like? Aveline can't let the guards have _all_ the fun so she calls me in for a little troubleshooting from time to time. I'm sure fighting Darkspawn must get frightfully repetitious, in comparison." Alistair found himself warming to this man. He was handsome and humorous;…and the way he fought had reminded him of Aedan.

_It may be that the way I fight is emblematic of my approach to everything in life_, Aedan had written. He wondered if it were true of this man, as well. He suspected it was true of Isabela.

"Speaking of Wardens, Blondie sent his congratulations," remarked Varric.

"What? Is Anders still in the city?" asked Hawke.

_Anders? Could it be the same one?_ "You know a Warden named Anders?"

"Knew," said Hawke, flatly. "He's—crazy."

Alistair wanted to pursue this. Had the Templars been right about him? He had disappeared, but Aedan had not wanted to believe them. Crazy. But then Hawke was distracted by another round of drinks and more well-wishers, and Alistair returned to his meal.

When things quieted down, Iain murmured to the others. "I saw her today. Meredith let her pets—some of them, anyway—out of their cages to help fight the Qunari."

"Bethany?" asked the Dalish girl, whom he had learned was called Merrill. "How is she?

He shrugged. "I don't know. She didn't have much to say. Maybe she was struck dumb by the sight of her beloved brother." He flashed a brittle smile.

Aveline put her hand on Hawke's. "Hawke, you don't think she blames _you_. She can't."

Hawke drank his ale and said nothing.

Alistair had finished eating, and the conversation had taken a more serious turn. It seemed there was pain behind the man's joking—it was a tactic Alistair knew well himself-and he felt he was intruding. He took his leave, explaining that he was leaving for Ferelden early in the morning. He felt Hawke's blue eyes at his back as he went up the stairs to his room.


	25. Highever:  A Former Brother

Alistair knew he was home when the smell of rowan blossoms drifted into his nose on the breeze, even before they had made it into port. Their scent reminded him of a grove of trees that had stood near Redcliffe castle when he was a boy. Rowan trees were popular in Ferelden, partly for their fruit, which was made it into a tart jelly, and partly in honor of the former Queen, Eamon's sister. A large stand of them grew on the headland at the entrance to Highever harbor. Castle Cousland, Aedan's boyhood home, stood on the bluffs on the other side of the harbor.

When they were moored, Alistair gathered up his belongings and made his way to the Black Bear Inn. Though he knew where it was, he had never been there, for he had never had need of an inn in Highever. As he ate his meal in the common room, he pondered whether he should try to see Fergus. Part of him longed to see him and his family, but he was not sure that he was still welcome. At the same time, perhaps Fergus would be hurt if he found out that Alistair had been in town and had not contacted him. They had grown close over the years and he had been both touched and proud to call the teyrn brother.

He decided that he would send a message to the castle that he was in town, expressing his desire to see them, even if it was only to say goodbye. However, he made it clear that he understood if Fergus did not want to see him for Aedan was his brother, and Alistair had hurt him. He penned the letter and asked the innkeeper to find a messenger to carry it to the castle.

He was still sitting in the common room, drinking ale and thinking about how he would deal with meeting Aedan again in just a few days, when he noticed that everyone around him had risen to their feet. He turned toward the door and saw Fergus, his arms outstretched.

Alistair rose to his feet and embraced him. He could see the other customers in the bar whispering to each other. Alistair was not well known in Highever—he had only been there twice—but when the Teyrn came to embrace him, they saw the Warden insignia on his shield, and guessed who he must be. "I wasn't sure if…" he murmured.

"Oh, Alistair, how could I not want to see you? I…just wish I could still call you brother." Alistair sighed and did not reply. "Please come up to the Castle and join us."

With a smile, he assented, and followed Fergus up the hill to Castle Cousland. Aelys greeted him cordially and led him to the nursery where he marveled at how little Bryce and Eleanor had grown in the year he had been away. He kept the children amused while Fergus' wife went to give instructions to the cook and serving staff. Playing with them always brought a smile to his face.

At dinner, they spoke of Fergus' children and of Eamon's young son, of Anora's plans for a University in Denerim, of the new mage circle in Orzammar. Of almost everything and everyone except Aedan, for which Alistair was grateful. He did not tell Fergus and Aelys about what had happened in Weisshaupt, of course, but he did talk about his travels: the trek through the desert, seeing the Merdaine in the distance, the various cities he had seen on his way home. Pressed by Bryce for tales of adventure he described his fight with the darkspawn in the Blasted Hills, though he made it sound less nearly fatal than it had been. Fergus seemed interested in hearing more about the events in Kirkwall, but Alistair had not sought out a detailed explanation, and could only relay the confused mess of rumors he had heard.

While the servants cleared the table, and Aelys put the children to bed, Alistair and Fergus retired to his study with a flagon of ale. When Alistair was settled into a high-backed oak chair, Fergus finally spoke of the dragon in the room. "Aedan wouldn't tell me what happened in Val Royeaux, but could he really have done something so unforgivable? Alistair—I know I have no right to ask this, but…Aedan is my brother and he needs you."

Alistair closed his eyes. "I know that Aedan is hurting but he doesn't _need_ me. He's—strong—"

Fergus shook his head. "He's not as strong as you think." His left hand stroked his beard as he sipped his ale and watched Alistair. "You didn't know him before the Blight. When it was all over, and we were reunited, I almost didn't recognize him. He hadn't changed in appearance so much, but in every other way, he was so different. At first, I didn't know quite how to deal with this confident, forceful _hero_ that my brother, the boy my Father had called Pup, had become in the year we were apart. At the time I thought he had been changed by the tragedy, by becoming a Grey Warden, by the responsibilities of leadership…but now, I realize so much of it was you."

"As I said, Aedan didn't tell me what happened in Orlais," he continued. "Maybe he was too ashamed. But I know that you lost…faith in him, and now he's lost faith in himself. In a way, Aedan is more like he was as a child." _I was a timid child_, Aedan had said, and they had all laughed. "The last time I was in Amaranthine, Meghann—that's the name of the senior mage, there, the attractive redhead, right?—told me he's hardly involving himself in the decisions at Vigil's Keep anymore, and that she and Nathaniel have been running things for months. He's so…I know you must have good reasons for leaving, but…can you really not forgive him?"

Alistair winced. "I—it's not simply a matter of forgiving. It's…" _It's high time you stopped looking to others for guidance, _Adelheid had told him, and he wasn't sure he was sure he was strong enough to make his own decisions with Aedan around. "…more a matter of trust."

Fergus gave him a plaintive look. "I just wish you had come a day earlier, when Aedan was here. If you just talked it out…"

He sighed. "I'll have to talk to him in a few days when I see him in Amaranthine, but—"

"He won't be there. He was on his way to Orzammar."

Orzammar? Aedan never went to Orzammar. If the Wardens had to go there, to recruit dwarves or go into the Deep Roads to gather blood for the Joining, Aedan had sent Alistair in his place. Almost any other time, Alistair had to argue with Aedan to convince him to go anywhere without him, but Aedan would not go to Orzammar or the Deep Roads. Aedan hated the city, and hadn't been in the Deep Roads since vanquishing the Mother and the Architect. He had said he did not plan to go there until…Alistair's heart started to pound. _Perhaps I will seek out the cavern in the Deep Roads where you gave it to me and take it with me there, when the time comes_, he had written.

Alistair gripped his stein of ale, as if he thought Fergus might try to tear it away from him. He took a deep breath. "Did he say why he was going to Orzammar?"

Fergus snorted. "Of course not. You know how he is: full of secrets. In that, he hasn't changed."

Too full of secrets. "How…how did he seem to you?"

"Sad. Tired…but Alistair, he hasn't seemed right since he returned from Orlais. He didn't tell me for months but I knew something terrible had happened. Most people couldn't tell because he's good at pretending, but I knew."

Too good at pretending, Alistair thought. How could he trust a man who could conceal so much? How could he ever have trusted him?

"But he didn't say anything…strange? He seemed alright?"

"He never seems alright to me now. Alistair, what's wrong? You're shaking!" He put his hand on Alistair's arm.

"I—I can't explain. But I must go after him! Was he riding?"

"No, I think he was on foot. But Alistair, tell me what's going on." He sighed when Alistair shook his head.. "It seems that much of Aedan's influence is still on you."

"I'm sorry. I can't." This was Warden's business. "If I could…and maybe I'm wrong." Maker, I hope I'm wrong. "But could I borrow a horse—a strong horse? I want to catch up with him."

"Well, I would like you to see him, so, of course, but…Alright. I suppose you will be leaving early in the morning, then. I had hoped you would stay longer."

Alistair shook his head. "I'm sorry. But thank you for still having me. It means a lot to me….but I have to go."

Before going to bed, he reread Aedan's final letter. It was confusing, he decided. Some of it seemed resigned and accepting, some self-pitying and pleading. Could he have been expected to read the reference to the Deep Roads as a clue to his intentions?

Lying awake, he began to wander if the letter was yet another attempt to manipulate him. Maybe Aedan planned to threaten to go into the Roads in a desperate attempt to get him back. But he couldn't have known when Alistair was arriving…unless Fergus was part of it, Maybe Aedan hadn't been there the last night at all, maybe he had been waiting in Orzammar for some time. Aelys had not mentioned Aedan's visit…

Maker, distrust was a poisonous thing. Was this how Aedan lived, questioning the motives and sincerity of everyone? It was easier when Alistair had divided the world into those he trusted, like Aedan, and those he didn't, like Morrigan, with no shades of gray between. But after what had happened, he didn't know if he would ever feel that certainty again…

There seemed nothing he could do but go after Aedan. Even if it was somehow a plot, he could not let Aedan throw away his life. But if Aedan sought to trap him by threatening this, as Alistair himself had once threatened to abandon the Wardens if Aedan agreed to recruit Loghain—what would he do? Surely, Aedan would be reasonable, just as Alistair wouldn't really have abandoned Ferelden and Aedan—he wouldn't have. would he?

.


	26. Ferelden:  Chasing Aedan

Alistair awoke early the next morning and made hasty preparations for his journey. Before leaving the castle, he kissed Bryce and Eleanor on their foreheads while they slept, wondering if Aedan had done the same the previous morning. How must it have been for him to leave to seek his death without saying goodbye to his brother? But that was Aedan's nature: he would not share his plans with anyone who might try to convince him to change his course, or prevent him from carrying them out.

Alistair was not as skilled in hiding his emotions as Aedan, and so Fergus knew he was filled with anxiety, even if he did not reveal its source. But the teyrn was used to dealing with Aedan's silences , and knew there was little point in pressing Alistair to explain himself. They embraced one last time before Alistair climbed on the horse Fergus had offered, and rode away. Glancing backward as he road, he saw that Fergus stood and watched him ride away for some time, frowning, and with his brow furrowed with worry.

In other circumstances, the first two days of his ride would have been pleasant, riding through the verdant lands of northern Ferelden in fair weather. But he knew that even on horseback, it would not be easy to make up much time on Aedan. Alistair was a big man, and his armor and gear were weighty, so the horse could not be expected to travel at much more than the pace of a brisk walk for long distances. He was far from certain that he could catch Aedan before he reached Orzammar. His best hope was that Aedan dawdled rather than rushed toward his end.

The tidy villages and green pastures of northern Ferelden had only suffered the barest touch of the Blight, unlike the south. People often hailed him as he rode, for though no one would know who he was, the gryphon on his shield was recognized, and Wardens were as respected in Ferelden as they were in Weisshaupt. It had been very different when he had first become a Warden; many had doubted the necessity and motives of his order. Now, they were heralded as the saviors of Ferelden, though Alistair was no longer sure if Ferelden's doom had been averted or merely delayed…

The road followed the narrow isthmus that separated Lake Calenhad from the sea, reminding Alistair of his childhood in Redcliffe along its southern shores. But though the sky was clear, he could not see so far as the circle tower from this distance, let alone Eamon's castle.

He was also reminded of the first time he had left his native land. He and Aedan had taken this road on their way to Jader, to meet with the Orlesian Wardens, shortly after the Blight had been vanquished. He had been happy then. In retrospect, he recalled that Aedan had seemed distracted at times. No doubt he had been trying to put together a story to account for the Archdemon's death. But Alistair had paid little heed to that, content to enjoy his lover's company and trust his leadership.

The fine weather held for several days, and Alistair was optimistic that he would overtake Aedan, though he knew it would be hard to make up much time on the steep climb up Sulcher's Pass. But as he began the ascent into the Frostback Mountains, the skies darkened and the mountaintops were shrouded in cloud. Rain began to fall, at first just a sprinkle, then a hard steady rain that turned the trail to mud.

Recognizing that the footing would be treacherous for his horse, Alistair dismounted and led it carefully up the slopes that were alternately slippery and soft. He prayed to the Maker that the rain would stop, or that it would prove to be a local storm system and that it would be dry once he wound around the next ridge.

But his prayers went unanswered as the unrelenting downpour continued throughout the day. He hoped that Aedan was slowed by this weather as much as he was, but worried that he might have been near to Orzammar before the deluge began. He trudged on well into the evening, stopping to make camp only when it grew too dark to see his way.

The rain was still falling when he awoke the next morning, and he was tired from the long, difficult climb of the previous day. As he made the final ascent through the pass, it slowed to a drizzle, and the way down into the vale of Orzammar was not as soggy as the way up had been. But though this aided his progress now, he thought grimly, it would have made it easier for Aedan, as well. He worried that the rain might have destroyed his hope of catching Aedan.

At last, a red sun broke through the clouds over the mountains to the west, but by that time he had reached the gates of Orzammar, and the weather no longer mattered. His fears proved to be well founded, for the captain of the guard at the gate informed him the Warden Commander had arrived the night before. Aedan could be leagues into the Roads by now.

Alistair suspected that his duty was to go to Vigil's Keep, and assume command of the Ferelden Wardens. He was Aedan's second and his heir presumptive, and it was madness to go into the Deep Roads alone. Grey Wardens only did when madness became inevitable. But he could not imagine going through his life wondering if he could have saved him, never knowing how he had fallen. No, it would be better to die knowing he had tried his best than to live with uncertainty and guilt.

He could still catch Aedan, he told himself. Aedan had a goal in mind: to return the rose to the cavern where Alistair had given it to him. To make it so far meant he had to stay alive through a long journey, and for Aedan, that meant stealth. He would be creeping through the Roads, avoiding the Darkspawn when he could, and traveling slower than Alistair, even fully armored. Of course, that also meant he would not have cleared the way, and Alistair would have to fight Darkspawn that Aedan had slipped past. But there should not be so many Darkspawn close to Orzammar, and Aedan would not be traveling as far as the Dead Trenches. There was a chance he could still reach him. There had to be.

_Damn you, Aedan. Why didn't you at least wait until I returned?_ He wished he had written something in response to Aedan's letters, but he had not known what to say, and had not guessed Aedan was so near to despair. _He's not as strong as you think, _Fergus had said. And now, he may have doomed them both.

Well, he had faced death often enough before. From the time of his Joining, he had suspected that his end would come in battle. But it bothered him that if he died on this errand, no one would ever know how he had fallen, or even why he had descended into the depths.

"Are you going to enter Orzammar or not?" asked the Guard Captain, tapping his mailed foot against the stone steps.

He nodded. "Sorry, I was just…lost in thought." After stealing one last glance at the setting sun, he stepped through the gates into the city.


	27. Orzammar:  Misunderstandings

His heart wanted him to head straight into the Deep Roads, but he knew that rushing into the darkness was foolish when he was already tired from a long journey. He needed rest, supplies, and the best map of the Deep Roads he could find. For all those things, he headed for Tapsters.

Studying the map he had purchased there, he tried to determine which tunnels Aedan would take to Ortan Thaig. The specific cavern Aedan sought was not shown on the map, but it had been near the Thaig, so Aedan would be making for Caridin's Cross first. Alistair had not gone as far into the Deep Roads as Ortan Thaig since the Blight, but there was a standard route the Wardens followed to Caridin's Cross, and he hoped Aedan would take it. Maybe he could catch up with Aedan at the Cross. He settled into bed for a restless night.

The next morning, he made his way into Orzammar mines. As he approached the Dwarven Guards at the entrance to the Roads, his senses lit up. _Darkspawn so close to Orzammar?_ He peered into the darkness and saw a man running toward him.

Before he understood what was happening, Aedan had leaped up, thrown his arms around Alistair's neck and begun kissing him passionately. He had forgotten how Aedan had filled his senses. He felt drunk with passion—it had been so long—and could not help but return the kiss.

But when Aedan's lips dropped to his neck, murmuring, "It's so good to see you," Alistair's mind started to work again. How could Aedan have been so close to the entrance to the Roads unless he had been waiting for him? Had he plotted the whole thing as a scheme to get Alistair back? Then Aedan looked up from his nuzzling and asked, "but…what are you doing here?"

It was only then that Alistair realized that Aedan was not alone. Over Aedan's shoulder, he saw the Senior Mage Meghann, a slim young man with a bow, and a dark-haired dwarf.. "That is our Commander's second, Alistair, but I…uh…think introductions can wait for now," Meghann commented to her companions. "We'll meet you back at Tapsters later, Commander."

"I came because Fergus told me you'd gone to Orzammar-and you _never_ go to Orzammar—I thought…"

Aedan's eyes widened, which made his cheekbones stand out more sharply. He had never been fleshy, but now he looked gaunt, much thinner than Alistair remembered. "Oh," he said. "Oh. No, it's been…hard without you—and I won't say the thought never crossed my mind-but I was not planning an end just yet. But it's nice to know you still cared enough to come."

"Oh, Aedan, I couldn't stop _caring_."

"After all, as long as I stayed at Vigil's keep, I could always hope that you would come back to me." Aedan continued, his voice as thin as his arms. "Are you coming back to me? I love you so much. I've missed you so much."

Mustering his strength, Alistair pulled away from him. "I—Aedan, we need to talk. Things have to change between us." Aedan's face took on an expression he must have learned from his hound, Conal. Alistair stifled an impulse to kiss him again. He needed to stay in control. "Let's go back to the city."

As they made their way through Orzammar, Alistair asked, "So you came to initiate some new Wardens, then? But why? You've always left that to…"

Aedan shrugged. "To you. I suppose I could have sent Meghann and Nathaniel but then I'd have to run everything alone and I don't know, maybe the Roads don't disturb me as much as they once did. The end is less frightening when I have so much…less to lose." They walked in silence for a time, as Alistair fought the desire to give more comfort.

As they entered Tapsters, Aedan asked in an even, casual tone, "So, how did things go in Weisshaupt? That Dalish Elf—Menashe?—did not tell me very much, other than that he expected you would be returning with some instructions." His eyed narrowed slightly, the only hint that this was anything more than idle conversation.

Alistair swallowed. Well, this _was_ what he had returned to Ferelden, before he had become convinced that Aedan was headed into the depths. "You could call them instructions." He glanced around the crowded and noisy common room. Meghann and the new recruits waved at them from a table on the far side of the room. He waved back but made no move to join them.

"You don't want to discuss them here, of course," Aedan nodded. "And it's loud. Let's get two tankards of ale and a room."

He hesistated. He did not trust himself alone with Aedan, but he was right: this was not something they could talk about in public. He took a deep breath and agreed.

When they entered the room, Aedan shucked his boots and stretched out on one side of the bed. Rather than taking the other side of the bed, Alistair sat in a chair by a small writing desk and began to tell him of his experiences at Weisshaupt, how the Wardens had reacted to his tale, and then, halting often and choosing his words with care, what the Council had planned.

"The Tevinter mage, Aristomachus, believes he has found a way by which they might reach Aife, through the Fade. The archivist—I became friends with her—explained to me that when we die our souls travel through the Fade, visiting those close to us, tied by bonds of love or blood. And so they seek to reach Morrigan's daughter…through you."

"I see," replied Aedan. "And is this why you returned for me? To ask me to do this?" His voice and hands were steady as he spoke these words. Only the curling of his toes betrayed any tension.

_How does he do it?_ Alistair wondered. _And how can I trust a man who can hide his feelings so well?_ "No! Aedan, how can you think…?" But unbidden, the thought came to him: _Would he do it for me, if I asked?_ "I couldn't ask. And it's…blood magic…I know that such is not forbidden to Wardens but," he shook his head. Perhaps it was just his Templar training, but he could not condone it. "They didn't tell me how the ritual worked. They asked me to persuade you to come to Coteaux du Roche so they could do it. I only found out the truth from Adelheid." _Stupid, loyal Alistair, he'll never suspect,_ they must have thought.

Aedan's toes uncurled. "Thank you. I should have known better but then…you were going to try to follow me into the Deep Roads alone? If you don't want me back, why take such a risk? How could you hope to find me?"

"I thought I knew where you would be headed…to the cavern where I gave you the rose." A slow nod from Aedan. "And I couldn't let you die. You're too—the Wardens need you." But Alistair knew that wasn't why he had come, and so did Aedan.

Aedan sniffed. "The Wardens need me so badly they would sacrifice me for this mage's scheme. I am only a man. They will survive without me; they will have to in due time."

"I guess I felt—responsible…"

"Guilt. Ah." Aedan sighed. "That's a powerful motivator, I suppose." He shook his head. "I hoped that you came for me. I know that Leliana will never forgive me. I suppose I can't blame her. I wrote to her at the Chateau de Montfleurie, but have heard nothing. But you. When I saw you in the distance, I was so filled with joy.." Aedan sat up in the bed and stared at him. "Are you truly happier without me?"

Alistair slapped the desk. "Happiness isn't everything Aedan. Not if it's based on lies. I can't go back to…what we were. You were hiding things from me, making decisions for us without me.…" The brief surge of anger departed and his voice softened. "I guess I was partly to blame. I suppose I should have known, should have challenged you, but I trusted you. Why didn't you trust _me?_"

Aedan blinked. "What? What do you mean? I know you wouldn't lie to me."

He sighed. "Not that kind of trust. You didn't trust me enough to confide in me."

There was a long silence. "Well, I wrote you in the letter that I was afraid that you needed me to be…more than I am to love me. A hero."

Alistair shook his head. "You should have trusted me."

"Some of the things I've done—things I thought I had to do—made me feel sullied. I guess I liked to thinkthat you were still pure, in a way."

"Aedan, do you really think I don't understand that sometimes hard choices have to be made? And if you're sullied, so am I because I followed you. Blindly." Aedan's mouth dropped open wide but he made no reply. After a moment, Alistair continued. "And it's not the only way I did not have your trust. I'm your second, but other than recruiting and training, you never gave me much responsibility. When you left Amaranthine, you usually took me with you, so Nat or Meghann were left in charge."

"I just wanted you with me. Did you really think I doubted your ability? Is that why you started insisting on staying behind?"

"Yes! I mean, if something happens to you, I'm expected to become Commander. I needed to be ready…and I needed the men to see me as ready."

"But they already do. How could they not, knowing everything we've done?"

"I'm sure they don't doubt me as a _warrior_…but during the Blight I was never a leader, and they know that. I was afraid to be, then, but if I'm to command in your place, I have to be. To face that fear."

Aedan shook his head. "I guess I never thought of it that way. But I'm sure the men don't doubt your ability, Alistair. That's your own doubt speaking."

_Was it just self-doubt?_ "And Aedan, I don't know if I can trust you again. I want to but…"

"I'm sorry I was dishonest with you. If you'll give me another chance, I'll tell you everything, I swear I will." His voice was firm with conviction, and Alistair longed to believe him.

"Are you sure you can? When you began telling us of your childhood, back in Val Royeaux, I realized how little you had shared with me. I didn't press you about the past because I know that it's hard for you to talk of your parents."

Aedan winced. "I've always been secretive, even when I was a child. But for you, I can be open, I swear it. I'm sorry that I wasn't."

"It won't be the same. I'm going to have to challenge you more. We're going to quarrel more often and maybe…maybe you won't love _me_ so much when you're not…getting your way."

Aedan rose to his feet and crossed the room toward him. "I could never not love you. Just let me try to win back your heart." He took Alistair's hand in his and clasped it. "Please?"


	28. Orzammar:  Night Thoughts

As Aedan slept beside him, Alistair lay awake, worrying that he was making a mistake. He had been reluctant to return to a private room with Aedan, fearing that he would not be able to resist his touch. It was hard to regret something that had given such pleasure and comfort, but despite all his promises, doubt lingered.

He wondered if he would ever again feel the security and confidence that he had a year ago. The two great certainties of his life—the Wardens and Aedan—had both failed him. He supposed there was more hope that one man could change than the leadership of the Wardens, and so, he had gambled on returning to Aedan. Perhaps he had chosen Aedan already back in Weisshaupt, when he had left the fortress with no intention of tricking Aedan.

He was still not sure it would really work. Was Aedan too used to having his own way? Was Alistair strong enough to hold him to his promise to share the burden of decision making with him? Would Alistair be able to tell if Aedan began to hide things from him again, and would he have the courage to leave, if he did? He did not know.

There were other concerns, as well. The First might not be willing to let his plan die. He had pointed that out to Aedan, who had not seemed perturbed, shrugging and saying 'let them try'. Maybe they should go away, and live a quiet life somewhere, perhaps in the hills overlooking Lake Calenhad. He was a little shocked by this idle fantasy, but not as he would have been by the idea of abandoning his duty as a Warden not so long ago. He had thought being a Warden to be the most noble calling a man could have, but after Weisshaupt, he was not sure that it had ever been the Grey Wardens that commanded his loyalty. Maybe it his faith had always been in Duncan, and later Aedan, rather than the Order itself.

But in the midst of all these doubts, there was one thing he knew for certain. He might be in a strange bed ,in the city of another people, but with the familiar rhythm of his lover's breathing, the firm curve of Aedan's buttocks against his abdomen, and the awareness of his taint close by, for the first time in more than a year, he felt that he was home.

THE END

AFTERWORD

Thank you to all of you who have read to the end of my story, especially those who have left encouraging comments and reviews, without which I would probably never have felt compelled to bring the story to a conclusion. And thanks also to David Gaider and Bioware for creating this world and these characters and allowing me to play with them.

When I began this story two years and a hundred and thirty-thousand words ago, I had no idea I would end up writing such a lengthy work, probably exceeding the entire fictional output of the rest of my life. I initially conceived it as a Blight story recounted by Aedan to Leliana in Val Royeaux, in part because I feel most comfortable writing in first-person storyteller mode. But then I started to wonder what brought Aedan and Alistair to Val Royeaux and I remembered the ending cards with Alistair being called away to Weisshaupt and so the prelude of Chasing Alistair was born. And then I recalled the reports of Morrigan being a counselor to Celene and the framing narrative began to interest me more than the Blight, though I was halfway through before I realized how it would end. And then the way Morrigan's Daughter ended left me thinking about what would happen to Alistair thereafter, leading to the last of the story. And so my small story, snowballed into this larger, more complex work that I would probably not have attempted had I conceived it in its entirety from the start.


End file.
